The Scientist
by Crowdreamer
Summary: "Manhattan Transfer," Part 2, my version. After Olivia is fired from her job, she tries to find solace in her relationship with Tucker. But Elliot pays a visit, in his official capacity as an FBI agent, to investigate the corruption of the NYPD. Tucker's jealousy and resentment toward Elliot flare up after new accusations against him, placing Olivia's safety and life in danger.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Comments:_** _The writers handed me this storyline on a silver platter, so I had to run with it, especially during the break. Now, just to forewarn everyone, I am not a big fan of Tuckson, so if you like Tucker, this is probably not the story for you. I'm still 100% EO all the way, and that's what this story is about. But hang in there, because you won't see any EO dynamics until Chapter Two._

 **The Scientist**

 _Nobody said it was easy_

 _It's such a shame for us to part_

 _Nobody said it was easy_

 _No one ever said it would be this hard_

 _Oh take me back to the start_

-Coldplay, "The Scientist"

Chapter One

At first, Olivia hesitated to open the door. But then again, what did it matter if anyone saw him here now? Biting her lip and her reservations, she swung the door inward and allowed him a space to enter, without meeting his eyes.

"I suppose you heard?"

He answered her, brushing past her in a whirlwind of pent-up anger. "I'm so pissed right now, Liv. They're throwing _both_ of us under the bus. I can't believe they fired you." His fists were balls as he paced her apartment floor, accidentally kicking a squeaky toy left on the floor by Noah's babysitter. Olivia silently thanked the woman, who agreed to keep Noah for a few hours while Olivia sorted things out the station. "Who in the world tipped them off about . . ." His hesitation to say the words did not offend her. Their relationship had been clandestine through mutual consent, out of concern for both of their careers, and not because either of them was ashamed of it. " . . . about us?"

"Ed, sit down," she said, combing her fingers through her hair to get up the courage to tell him. He sat on her couch, hardened eyes looking up at her, filled with questions. She stammered, "I—I was talking to Barba—"

"You told him."

She couldn't meet that stabbing gaze—not now, not ever, until she was certain she was safe from his anger. "I'm sorry, Ed. He flat-out asked me. You know I have a hard time lying."

"But you can when you want to," he said, and she didn't need to see those eyes to hear the tint of sarcasm in his voice. She turned completely away from him now, as if that would save her from his wrath. "You have when it was in your best interest. Like with Lewis—"

She spun to face him. "That was different!"

"Really?" he said, standing. She wished she hadn't turned toward him, now that she could see the outline of veins bulging from his forehead. "Because the only difference I see is that with Lewis, it was only your own career that was at stake."

"And my freedom! Don't forget that part."

He raised a hand curtly, and she flinched for a moment before realizing that he had just brought it to the corner of his mouth to wipe away some festering spittle. She had never been afraid of him before—not since they had shared a bed anyway. But he had an intimidating presence when he wanted to—his body stiff as a board, his face hard as an anvil, like some authoritarian secret police soldier.

But he hesitated, and then responded in a softer tone. "I guess . . . how can I blame you for being honest. It is what I appreciate about you, after all."

She nodded with relief, consciously relaxing her jaw. "Anyway," she said, "maybe we shouldn't meet here anymore. I don't know if your place would be better or not."

"What, you think they're not tailing me too? I'm under investigation, remember?"

"I know, it's just . . ." But she let the sentence trail off, and then wondered why she _had_ suggested his place. Maybe it was because she had never seen it, not even once, and she thought it odd that he would never share that part of his life, or his bed, with her. Instead, they had always come here, and she was fine with having him over, but she found that the mystery of his apartment had worn off quickly and turned to irritation on her part. "Maybe a public place would be better. Just for now, until this all blows over."

"Yeah. Maybe you're right." His eyes turned from iron into crystal. "But while I'm here . . ."

His hand found her arm and stroked it lightly. His voice turned buttery. "Hey, I'm sorry I got mad."

She dismissed his apology, although she appreciated it. "Eh, I should have probably just kept my mouth shut. But thank you for understanding."

Their eyes met, and he brought his head closer to hers until their lips met as well, and for a while she melted into him, allowing all the bitterness of the past few days to dissolve in the sweetness of his touch. Somewhere in the head-swimming contact, they found the couch below them, and as soon as their clothes hit the floor, she took out her frustrations on his body, pounding them out in a spiraling, swirling grind until climax. Only then, after sweat from her hairline singed his cooling skin, did she notice his hands loosely gripping her throat.

"What are you doing?" Her voice husky, she slowed her rocking motion to a halt, staring down at him through hazy eyes.

As if she woke him from a trance, his eyes widened in surprise, and his hands fell from her neck to caress her sides. "Nothing. I just . . . nothing."

She hopped up and began to head to the bathroom for a shower, letting the startling moment drop from her consciousness. She knew he liked to play a little rough in the bedroom—he'd tried to lure her into some borderline behaviors before, like spankings and heavy biting—even toying with the idea of candle wax. But she'd always declined. That was not her thing, having witnessed too many crime scenes that started out as "harmless fun gone a little too far."

He joined her in the shower, but she wasn't in the mood to talk. Losing her job had the effect of streamlining all her thoughts into obsession with the subject, and the whole topic didn't sit well inside her ever-tightening chest. Her game plan—keep in touch with the lower echelons of her unit, avoiding Dodds at all cost. She didn't know where his loyalties were rooted, but she did know she could count on her former underlings to keep her in the loop. In the meantime, she might have to go looking for another job, otherwise she wouldn't be able to keep this apartment and shelter her little family.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Author's Comments:_** _Well, I just saw spoilers, and I guess Liv doesn't lose her job completely. But this story will be AU in about a week anyway, because Elliot's never coming back and the show will never follow my plot, so I guess it doesn't matter that I had her get fired. Oh, and I know some of you didn't like the Tucker bed scene—believe me, it was no joy to write either._

Chapter Two

"Liv, can you come in?" Amanda's voice had a slight tremor to it that Olivia could detect even through the phone. "There's someone here who wants to question you . . . from the FBI. He said he'd be willing to talk to you in our precinct, if you want to stay on neutral ground."

"FBI?" On the one hand, maybe One PP had turned her in for corruption charges, trying to dig an even deeper hole for her to climb out of. But she didn't think so—it was more likely they would want to handle things in-house, to keep the feds out of their business, instead of risking revealing their own dirty little secrets. Which meant—maybe the FBI was not here to investigate her at all, but rather, to ask her questions about its own ongoing investigation. This could be a good thing for her, and for Tucker.

As if she needed any more prompting to say yes, Amanda added, "There's another reason I think you'll want to talk to this guy. If you come down, you'll see why."

"Why?" Why couldn't anyone just be straight with her?

"Just get down here. You'll see."

But instead of easing her fears, Amanda's words caused tremors to permeate through her arms and legs as she stepped back into her old precinct. Surely Amanda wouldn't set her up for an arrest, would she?

Olivia scanned the room as she stepped off the elevator, waiting for a blunt directive from a waiting officer: "Olivia Benson, come with us please."

Instead, she saw the same familiar faces, greeting her with a mixture of pity and determination. Amanda waved her hand toward the interrogation room. "He's in there. We thought it would give you more privacy. Dodds isn't here, and none of the rest of us will be listening in."

Olivia nodded, only pausing for a second with her hand on the door to the interrogation room. Sighing, she opened it and strode in, and then gasped, her head shaking involuntarily in a double take. "Elliot . . ."

His face scraggly with a well-trimmed beard, he raised his twinkling eyes to meet hers, and she swore he looked exactly like she remembered him. He stood from the chair across from her, letting his fingertips touch the table in between them, but not moving around the table to greet her, as if unsure of her reaction toward him.

She gulped, trying to get her bearings in the swimming pool that had consumed her mind. "What—what are you doing here, Elliot?"

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving her alone in the silence that filled the room. After an excruciating pause, he relieved her from the awkwardness by saying, "I . . . I work for the FBI now."

She sat down in the chair directly across from him, her mouth staying wide open the entire time. "I—I had heard rumors—"

"The rumors were true—"

"But I didn't know for sure—"

"Civil Rights Division. That's why I'm here."

She couldn't believe he was here. Right here, in the flesh, sitting before her own eyes like a ghost or something. She wanted to reach out and touch his arm, feel his skin beneath her fingers, see if he was real or if this was all just some sort of hallucination brought on by extreme anxiety.

He looked as if he wanted to do the same. Instead, their respective fingers lingered out on the table between them, inches apart.

"So," he said, his words soft, like pillow talk, "how are . . . things?"

"Right now, could be better."

"Yeah, I know. But, I mean, I heard you have a kid." Before she could fumble through the dictionary of her brain to find the right words, he said, "Congratulations. I know how much you wanted—"

"How did you know, Elliot?" She lowered her eyebrows at him. The reality of the situation began to sink in, causing hot blood to rush to her cheeks. What could he possibly know about her, without bothering to make contact with her for five solid years?

"I . . ." He looked down at his hands. "I might have seen you on Facebook."

"Dammit, Elliot."

"Okay, so I Facebook stalked you a little. I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you call?" She couldn't look at his face now, and leaned back in her chair to stare at the blank walls.

"I'm sorry, Liv. I—"

"Lewis." The word stopped him in his verbal tracks. "Did you know what happened with him?"

His voice barely registered above a whisper, every word deliberately planned to avoid the mine-field of her anger. "I didn't know until after it happened, when I saw you on the news. And then I guess I just felt guilty that I wasn't there to protect you, so I never got up the nerve to call you, and every day that I waited I figured you would be even more angry with me."

She stood now, compelled by her own fury to face the wall instead of his unbearably empathetic eyes. Bringing a hand to her forehead, she said, "So you decided it would be best not to call me at all. Not even to offer condolences."

He waited for a second, and she wanted to turn around and slap him. "I'm sorry, Liv. I don't know how to prove it to you."

She blinked back a tear, hoping it wouldn't escape, forcing others to join it in the memories of her trauma and subsequent lack of support from him. With one hand covering her mouth and the other on her hip, she forced her thoughts away from the past, and tried to regroup her focus to the present. Blinking control back into her psyche, she turned to face him again. But she couldn't let him into her world, not now. She would never trust him to be there for her, so she had to keep things on a superficial level.

"So, are you here because of what SVU dug up in the sting operation, then?"

His eyes searched hers for some connection, some understanding of what he had just said, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Finally, his shoulders sagged and he said, "Yeah, that's exactly why I'm here."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Elliot's voice became too matter-of-fact for Olivia's liking. "So I guess Barba didn't feel like there was enough evidence to charge anyone?"

"We don't have any witnesses now. Our only decent one got fed a drug overdose, probably from the vice cops she was about to expose."

"Well, you're lucky." He turned his attention to a folder on the table in front of him, resting his hand on it. "The FBI's had a UC in there for a while now, looking for evidence of sex trafficking."

She wished that made her feel better, but right now all she could focus on was the knot in her gut from being punched with the reality that her former partner had re-entered her life, but only in the most official capacity. "That's—that's great. So why do you need me? You could coordinate with my squad."

He cleared his throat. "Because I don't trust anyone but you. And Fin, and he's in court all day on another case."

She stood and scooted her chair under the table. "Well then, I guess you don't need me anymore, because I can vouch for all of them. Everyone but Dodds. You can trust any one of them to fill you in."

His eyes begged her to stay, but he said, "Okay, then." She turned and placed an ambivalent hand on the door handle, pausing when he said, "Liv." She didn't turn to face him, but sighed when he said, "I'm going to do my best to get you your job back. Even though—Tucker? What are you, writing your own version of _Sleeping with the Enemy_?"

And with that, she charged through the door and slammed it behind her before advancing to the elevator. The doors slid open to reveal Tucker's hanging head, his hard eyes lifting to meet hers, and then widening. "Liv, what are you doing here?"

"Probably the same thing as you. Speaking to the FBI?"

His gaze darted around the precinct as he got off the elevator. "Yeah."

She wedged a hand against the elevator door to hold it open until she could drop her bombshell. "I'm guessing they didn't tell you either."

"Tell me what?"

"The agent who's here . . . is Stabler."

"Ah, Christ."

She tucked her lips into her teeth, holding back a smirk, and then stepped on the elevator. "Good luck."

Elliot peered up through lowered eyes at Tucker's steely face after the white-haired bull-dog entered the interrogation room. Then Elliot leaned back for emphasis, saying, "My, how tables do turn."

"What do you mean, Stabler?" Tucker said, pulling out the same seat that Olivia had just graced with her awe-inspiring presence. "You're not investigating me."

"You sure about that?" It warmed Elliot's heart to watch Tucker squirm. "After all, you're already under investigation by your own department."

Uncertainty seemed to pierce Tucker's hardened exterior. But then he said, "Nah. You wouldn't come all the way down here for some unsubstantiated Jerry Springer rumor about me, when you've got obviously corrupt vice cops to go under. Unless—" Elliot could almost see a smirk hiding under those straight-line lips. "Unless there's an alternative reason for being here. Like your ex-girlfr—oops, I meant, partner—falling into bed with the guy you despise the most."

Elliot resisted the urge to shoot to his feet and jam the man against the wall. He wasn't sure if his internal reaction was because of his feelings for Olivia, or if it was just the crass way Tucker spoke about her. But he swallowed his pride and steadied his voice. "Well I guess it's true what they say, that there's no accounting for taste. But regardless, that's not why I'm here."

"You're here to get those dirty cops."

"And others."

"Well, as far as that goes, you have my complete cooperation. But Stabler," he said, his gaze growing daggers.

"Huh?" Elliot didn't break his menacing stare, not even to blink.

"You get in the way of Liv and me, and you'll pay."

Elliot had never, in all his misfortunate dealings with Tucker, heard such venom in the man's voice. "I don't plan on it. But she makes her own decisions."

There was a time span of several seconds where Elliot wondered whether Tucker was going to try and pummel Elliot into the ground or back down. Fortunately, the man chose the latter, saying, "Let's get started. I'll tell you everything I know."

After Tucker finished his debriefing and left, Elliot stayed glued to his chair, rubbing his stubbly chin. How could he be so disappointed with Olivia's reaction, when he knew he had screwed up? No contact for five years. They had been so much more than partners, more like unfulfilled soul-mates, and he had abandoned her without even a goodbye. Why had he thought she might be glad to see him?

He knew she had her new life, and new love interests, and a family, but Tucker? He couldn't understand how she had gone to the dark side. Maybe his leaving had created a void so empty that she needed someone extreme to fill it. Or maybe the guy had stopped being a prick. Either way, knowing they were together opened a wound in him that he couldn't foresee ever healing.

Olivia answered her door and couldn't believe how hard her stomach fell when she realized it was Tucker and not Elliot. How could she possibly long for a man she hadn't seen for five years, just because he decided to pop into her life for five seconds? She was so angry with him right now, she just wanted him to skip this investigation and drive straight on through to hell.

Holding the door open for Tucker, she said, "I thought we agreed, no meeting at my place for now."

"I know. I just had to touch base after that awkwardness. What did you tell him?"

"Stabler?" she said innocently, as if he could possibly be talking about anyone else. "I told him to have my squad catch him up. What about you?"

He brought his hands up to wrap them around the back of her head. "I told him everything I know."

She wrapped her arms around him and said softly, "Maybe he can help."

He intertwined his fingers in her hair. "Can't hurt, I guess."

Their bodies swayed gently, pressed against one another. She said cautiously, "He said they have another person on the inside of the operation—they might be able to pursue different leads than us."

Tucker shook his head. "Hey, let's not talk about this anymore, okay?"

He stroked her hair, and then leaned in for a kiss. But she wasn't in the mood, and she turned her head before his lips could make contact. He pulled back, his eyes confused. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, unable to meet his gaze. His hands strengthened their grip on the back of her shoulders. "Nothing. I'm just . . . not in the mood for this tonight."

He nodded curtly, his jaw clenching. "Oh, really? Why not?"

"It's just . . . everything that's going on right now, it's got me stressed out." She pulled away from his grip and went to her secret stash of wine, pulling out two glasses.

He didn't come toward her to retrieve a glass. Instead, he stayed planted on the spot where she left him, studying her. She didn't like the way he stared at her. "Oh?" he said, thinly veiled sarcasm in his voice. "Because you didn't seem to have a problem with intimacy yesterday." She lowered her head, carefully pouring the wine into the glass, and he continued, "Is there something . . . _different_ today?"

Her head snapped up and she jammed the bottle down harder on the table than she meant to. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, but his tight lips portrayed anything but indifference. "Oh, I don't know. Elliot shows back up in town, and all of a sudden—"

"That's bullshit, Ed," she said, pouring a large swig of stinging red liquid down her throat. "This has nothing to do with—"

"Then what does it have to do with?" His darkened face stepped out of a shadow, and now she could see every vein in his forehead.

She sighed. "I already told you."

She took another gulp of wine, watching him intently while she downed it. He took another couple of steps toward her, and now she could see every taut muscle in his neck. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again, as if he had changed his mind. Then he spoke, his tone measured. "Okay, then. I guess I'll leave you to your 'stress reliever.'"

With those words, he spun to face the door and strode out, closing the door hard without quite slamming it.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The phone weighted Olivia's hand down like an anchor, and she turned it over several times, trying to get up the nerve to make the phone call. The sun hung low in her window, causing her to squint where she sat stiffly on her couch, and Noah played quietly on the floor with a stack of blocks.

Her generic ringtone startled her, and she looked at the number of the caller. Unrecognizable, but she picked it up anyway. "Hello?"

"Liv?"

She didn't mean to make him wait in unbearable silence, but she couldn't get past the shock of him calling her when she had just been debating doing the same to him. "Elliot."

"Look, I'm sorry for calling you at home, but I have to talk to you."

"It's okay, El. I wanted to talk to you anyway. I just wanted to say, I'm sorry for earlier. I just—when I walked in and saw you—"

"You don't have to explain. It's fine."

She thought about explaining that she had gotten used to life without him, had finally adjusted to the enormous loss that his departure had instilled in her, and then his sudden reappearance had knocked her little world off-balance once more. But she kept her mouth shut, and he continued. "What I wanted to talk to you about is something . . . different. Something really important. Can you meet me somewhere private?"

Trying to keep the eagerness from her voice, she said, "Sure. There's a bar I know—"

"Alright, where is this place?"

It took Olivia a while to get there—she had to line up a babysitter, but the bar was in her own neighborhood, so she was pretty certain she didn't keep Elliot waiting long. Nerve endings fired up, muscles trembling, she walked in and scanned the bar until she saw him, sitting at a booth. His face perked up when he saw her, and she wondered if his feelings for her had evaporated after all these years, or if the chemistry between them had withstood the test of time.

She guessed there was no time like the present to find out.

Scooting onto the bench seat across from him, she resisted the temptation to reach out and grab his hands in hers. Instead, she tucked them safely beneath her legs.

He eyed her with a half-smile, then returned to his somber gaze and said, "I have some . . . news. You're not going to like it."

He stopped, and she could feel reluctance rolling off him. "Might as well give it to me," she said. "Can't be any worse than all the other shocking things I've heard so far."

He sighed. "I don't know about that. But, here goes. Our UC hooked us up with a prostitute who reluctantly agreed to talk to us about what she'd experienced."

"Underage?"

"Not this one, no. But she said she thought some of the stuff that had happened to her might constitute rape. And after hearing her story, I agree." He looked down at his hands, which held a tumbler of golden liquor. "She said one guy, who was definitely connected to the other perps you've been investigating—vice, Judge Wheeler, some of the ADA's—he took her into a bedroom and got rough right off the bat. She told him she wasn't into that, but her resistance got him going even more, and he tied her up, beat her with a riding crop on her bare skin, did atrocious things to her . . ."

Olivia had a hard time hearing anymore, and she sat back in her chair and turned her head to the side, shaking it in exasperation. "So did she ID this guy?"

"Yeah." Elliot's eyes beseeched her, and she couldn't understand what they were trying to tell her. "I showed him pictures of our suspects, mixed in with random pictures I downloaded, pictures of officers and detectives and ADA's and judges. And she picked out one in particular. Insisted she was positive it was the guy."

Elliot's stare made her squirm, and a sick free-fall feeling overtook her, like she had just jumped off the ledge of a deep pit to meet her fate in the blackness below.

"It's Tucker."

Before he even said the words, her head shook. "No, it's not—"

"Liv, Tucker's not only involved in this, he's—"

"No, I don't believe it—"

"He's the most evil player of them all."

"No."

She refused to look at him. Refused to participate in this blame game and give him the satisfaction of accusing his mortal enemy, her lover, of these horrific things that probably never happened.

At some point, her hand had slipped onto the table to clutch a drink napkin, and he grabbed that hand and clutched it tight. "Think about it, Liv. Put two and two together. He's been accused of knowing about the trafficking of young girls and ignoring it. And he's the only one besides the priests who knew where your witness, Kara, was staying when she received that fatal overdose."

She didn't say anything anymore, just continued to shake her head, sniffling back a tear. The hand that Elliot held was numb—any contact from his fingers couldn't penetrate her unfeeling skin.

"Liv, you have to listen to me. You may be in danger if you don't. He's dirty, that's a fact. This witness was untainted—"

"No!" She snatched her hand away from him and glared at him under lowered eyebrows. "You listen to me, Elliot. I know him. He's not dirty, he's being set up."

"Liv, please think about it. It makes sense."

"No, I'm done, Elliot." She stood abruptly, pushing the table toward him as she stood and turned to storm out the door. When she got outside, she let the wind cool her burning cheeks, taking deep gasps of air to steady her shaky legs. And then she turned in the direction of Ed's apartment, ignoring Elliot's desperate voice behind her crying out, "Olivia!"


	5. Chapter 5

**_Author's Comments:_** _I must have psychological issues to want to write stories like this. Anyway, enjoy the results of my psychotic tendencies . . ._

Chapter Five

Olivia hopped in a cab to keep Elliot from tailing her. She thought it strange that she knew where Tucker lived, even though she had never been to his place. And then, once more, she wondered why that was. Could it possibly be true what Elliot and the others were saying about him? It would explain a lot.

But she had to hear it for herself—from him. Because if any of it _was_ true, if even one underage girl had been harmed because he had looked the other way, she had to be there to knock his teeth out. And if not, he was going to have some explaining to do, and maybe show her some alibis to prove to her he was not involved in any corruption in any sort of way.

She still could not believe what was being said about him, though. Many of these accusers were the same people who had gone after her for digging too deep. But not Elliot. She trusted that Elliot would not make up this business about a hooker being raped just to split the two of them up. Maybe the hooker was a plant, who knows? But she knew Elliot wouldn't go this far to intentionally play games with her heart.

Standing outside Tucker's door, she shifted her feet, staring down at her heeled boots, uncomfortably waiting for him to let her in. When the door creaked open, she stood there for a moment, taking in his stiff presence, sizing him up before she could confront him.

He stepped to the side, and she whooshed past him. Scanning the place, she didn't notice anything that would betray his home as a den of evil—no S&M toys or hanging harnesses. In fact, it was rather tidy, with pictures hanging neatly on a white-painted wall in the foyer. She examined one, a picture of him standing next to a beautiful white horse, proudly displaying a blue ribbon from its halter.  
"I didn't know you rode horses," she said.

"All my life. What are you doing here, Liv?"

She turned to face him, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. "I have some questions for you, Ed."

"What questions?" His frame stiffened.

She planted her feet solidly. "There's been some new accusations. Horrible . . . accusations. Of rape. Borderline torture."

His gaze seemed to bore through her, cutting her in two. "Against me?" She didn't even have to nod for him to know the answer, because he looked away and sighed. "Who made these allegations?"

She mumbled, having a hard time getting her lips to form words. "Doesn't matter. Just tell me they're not true, Ed."

He brought his glare back to her, his eyes intense. "Who told you all this . . . Stabler?" Once again she didn't answer, and he practically spat the next few words at her. "What were you doing talking to Stabler?"

"What does it matter, Ed?"

"It matters." His tone forceful, he said, "Can't you see he's trying to drive a wedge between us?"

She shook her head. "No. He wouldn't do that. At best, he got bad intel—"

Tucker's hand flew up to punctuate the air. "You're defending him? Obviously his scam to turn you against me is working. And why would fall for it, Liv?"

He only stood a few inches taller than her, but his presence filled the room now, creating rows of goosebumps on her arms. "Ed, I just need to hear you say it, that it's not true."

He snorted, planting his hands on his hips. "Of course it's not true. They must have planted a prostitute to discredit me."

A wall came down between them in the silence that followed, and her heart began to pound. "I . . . didn't say it was a prostitute."

He only hesitated for a second before saying, "It wasn't hard to guess that little detail. I just assumed because of your operation . . ." Then he placed his hands on her arms, his fingers pleading with her. "Come on, Liv. Don't fall for their dirty tactics. I'm clean."

Her head bobbed up and down in short nods, and she said quietly. "It all makes sense now." She yanked away from his grasp, turning to the side and bringing one palm up to her forehead. It all came together like pieces of a puzzle. He liked horses. The prostitute had accused him of using a riding crop. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to measure the distance to the door and his placement between her and it.

"Liv, just listen to me." He stepped square in front of her again, solidly facing her. Then he took one step toward her with his right foot, and before she could even flinch, he brought his fist up and connected it hard to her temple.

" _Game over_ ," she thought, just before a dizzying cyclone of darkness consumed her and drew her into unconsciousness.

Olivia didn't want to open her eyes, because her head pounded like someone was trying to escape from the inside of her skull. But she blinked several times, trying to bring her hand to head before realizing that she couldn't really move much of anything. And her arms, which were stretched over her head, ached from supporting the weight of her body.

"Ed?" she called out, forgetting the last few seconds of their conversation for a moment.

"Oh, you're awake?"

His voice came from behind her, but she couldn't turn her head, couldn't move, so she couldn't see him. She leaned her weary head back, and now she could make out a large meat hook bolted to the ceiling directly above her. Her hands were bound together with rope, which was draped over the hook, and all her weight pulled down against them, making the muscles in her arms groan. Her toes barely touched the floor, and she pushed up on them for a second to relieve some of the weight from her biceps.

She closed her eyes and sighed, only now realizing the severity of her situation. She was naked, except for her underwear, and she began to tremble, wondering what he had in store for her. But she opened her eyes once more, looking for any clues to an escape in her line of vision. Directly before her but several feet away lay a bed, with a missionary style frame, neatly made up with a navy blue bedspread, and she presumed this room was his bedroom.

She jerked against her restraint to get a feeling of how sturdy it was, but there was no budging. "Don't even bother. You'll never get off that thing. It's made to withstand the weight of writhing cow going to slaughter. Your puny weight is nothing, comparatively."

She bit back humiliation. "Ed. Can we just talk about this?"

He appeared in front of her now, shaking his head, carrying a menacing object in his hand. She knew very little about horses, but she knew this was no riding crop. He clutched a full-length horse whip, the whip part made of leather braided together, separating into smaller strips at the end. "Cat's out of the bag now, Liv. There's no going back."

"Ed," she said, eyeing the whip as her body broke out into a trembling fit. She could barely find her voice, and her words came out in a near-whisper. "Please. Nobody has to know about this."

"Oh, no," he said, advancing toward her with a ball gag in his hand. She writhed and twisted to avoid him, but he grabbed the hair on the back of her head and held it in place while he shoved the gag in her mouth. Then he backed up to admire her in her vulnerable, naked state. "I can't stop now, Liv. I've always wanted to do this."

She shivered, the cold air assaulting her bare skin. He backed up and stood to the side of her, planting his feet as he raised the whip with his right hand. She shut her eyes tight and clenched her muscles, but there was no preparing for the sting that cut across her back as the whip cracked across it. She moaned, but with her voice muffled, it was as if she had no voice at all. And then he brought the whip to her back again, and she wondered how long it took to die from a flogging, because obviously he would never let her go after this.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Author's Comments:_** _Poor Liv._

Chapter Six

The only sound in the room, a ticking clock, was drowned out periodically by the crack of the whip, and the near-silence in between nearly drove Olivia insane. _Whoosh-crack! . . . tick tick tick . . . whoosh-crack! . . . tick tick tick . . .whoosh-crack!_

Every time the leather sliced into her skin, her body twitched involuntarily, the excruciating sting digging into her already-wounded flesh. She kept her eyes clenched shut, trying to inhale deep breaths in between every strike, but as soon as the whip pounded her painful back, her breath came out in short heavy bursts, like she was giving birth. A tear began to trickle out of the corner of her eye, followed by another, and the salty stream cut a trail down her wincing cheeks.

She didn't know which hurt worse—the times when the whip landed on gashes already forged into her skin, or when the torture implement found new, untouched flesh to scar. After ten, eleven, twelve strokes of the whip across her back, there was a pause, and she dared to open her eyes.

 _Tick tick tick . . ._ the clock continued uninterrupted, and now Tucker came into her line of vision from the side. He had removed his shirt, and sweat coated his shiny chest. He still had his pants on, and she cringed when she noticed an enormous hard-on protruding against the front of them.

She tried to slow her breathing again, but the pain in her back kept her heart pounding so hard that her lungs fought to keep up. Tucker approached her slowly, stroking her sides gently with the whip, admiring her naked body. "Mmmmm," he moaned, moving in closer to clutch one of her breasts in his free hand. "This really gets me going. I tried to tell you before. . ."

He suckled her neck with his mouth, and she rolled her head up and away from him, hoping the move wouldn't anger him too much. But he didn't seem riled up—he raised his lips to her ear and said, "I want to see you writhe in pain some more. But I don't want to finish too fast . . . I'll try to use restraint."

Now he pulled her tightly into him by pressing against the gashes on her back with his hand, and she let out an involuntary groan. "Oh, I think it's too late," he said, his moan joining hers, his erection pressing against her thigh until a wet spot touched her skin and he began to soften.

She kept her eyes squeezed shut, disgusted by his sexual arousal at her pain. But she couldn't shut her ears to his voice, and he whispered, "It's not over though. I'm going to smoke a cigarette, and we'll start up again soon."

Elliot cursed Liv for running away from him like that, and for giving him the slip by jumping into a cab. If he could have found another cab to follow her, he would have, but as it stood, he found himself forced to retreat into the bar to evaluate his next steps.

He wanted to track her down and restrain her, shout at her until she would listen to reason, but she was a grown woman who had gotten by on her own all these years without him. So instead, he ordered another beer. His fingers dialed her number fifteen times before he gave up. And then he started calling other people, because grown woman or not, she was blind to the danger she faced.

Why did everybody seem so busy today? He finally got through to Fin. "Hey, what's up, El, sorry I missed you at the station the other day."

"Hey, no problem, Bro. But I could really use your help right now."

"Yeah? What are you looking for?"

"Tucker's home address."

"So why you askin' me for? Dude's a loner—he don't hang with anybody I know."

Apparently, Fin didn't know what Tucker and Liv had going on. "I don't have time to explain. But you know how secretive One PP is about personal information. It would take me time to get a warrant, and—"

"Warrant? What do you mean—you want to go after the guy? In his home?"

Elliot paused, torn between wanting to explain the whole thing to Fin and wanting to get to Olivia as quick as possible. "Let's just say, Liv's safety may depend on it."

Fin hesitated, and then said, "Let me do a little asking. I'll get it for you. But only if I can ride along."

"You got it. Just hurry."

Exhausted, Olivia pushed up on her toes every few seconds, hoping to relieve the pressure on her arms. At one point, she tried to sway back and forth so she could swing her legs up until her feet rested on the bed—then maybe she could get herself off the hook. But her energy just wasn't there—she was barely able to move her body more than a few inches.

Tucker's footsteps padded behind her, and she flinched when he ran the handle of the whip over her torn-up back. He trailed the end of it down her buttocks and said, "I haven't even hardly touched this. Virgin territory."

She clenched her body, knowing it wouldn't stop the pain, and then jumped when leather crackled against her underwear, ripping at it to reach the bare flesh underneath. And again the whip cracked, and then again, and it didn't matter how many times it fell against her helpless body, she still dreaded the next lashing.

He stopped for a moment and nestled up against her, saying, "If I take the gag out, promise not to scream? You'll pay if you do."

She nodded, her eyes tight shut against emerging tears. The gag came out. "You sick fucking bastard," she sputtered, glaring at him. "How on earth do you think you're going to get away with this?"

His breath fell hot against her neck. "The same way I did the other eight times."

' _Eight times_ ,' she thought. The man had kept secrets better than she ever could have imagined. It just went to prove—everybody had something to hide. She croaked, "Yeah, but I'm betting those were prostitutes,"

"Not all of them. Remember how that female ADA went missing last year?"

' _Oh my God_ ,' she thought, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, she said, "Elliot knows where I was headed."

His breath quickened, smattering onto her cheek in spurts. "Thanks for warning me. I'll take care of him too, if he gives me any shit."

He shoved the ball gag into her mouth, and then got back to business. His strokes growing more intense now, she thought she could feel the skin peeling away as he struck the same areas again and again. Every time he thrashed her now, she let out a little whimper, hoping he wouldn't hear over the crack of the whip, because she didn't want to satisfy his sadistic urges in any way. She counted at first, and lost count at twenty-five, and then her body gave up and went limp, no longer fighting the pain anymore by writhing or flinching the way it had initially. Then, she just hung in place like a piece of meat, waiting for the agony to end.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Author's Comments:_** _Alright, since I'm in a good mood, and it's Spring, and you buttered me up . . . oh, and I'm about three chapters ahead already . . . here ya go._

Chapter Seven

It took a few seconds for Olivia to realize that the whippings had stopped for now, but she took in deep gulps of air, preparing for the next blow. Her head hung from exhaustion that stole every last bit of her muscle strength. Her back on fire, swollen and raw, she waited, tortured by the suspense of silent air. It almost scared her more than the beatings, because it might mean he was done with her, in which case he would be ready to end her life.

She opened her eyes. Tucker stood directly in front of her, raping her with his penetrating gaze, stroking his erection with his hand. She closed her eyes again, not wanting to witness him climax from her suffering. A knock on the door caused her to jump, and her eyes shot open just in time to see Tucker zipping up his pants.

"Don't make a sound," he scowled at her before retreating to his living room.

Elliot crowded the door, waiting for Tucker to answer it. The silence lasted so long that he thought it might be useless to wait. Still, he pounded on the door again, determined not to give up until he was positive Tucker wasn't there with Liv. Fin stood so close behind him, Elliot could almost feel the man's breath on his neck. He began to estimate how hard it would be to break in.

A clacking noise sounded through the door, and Elliot exhaled, relieved that he had a live human being to speak to. The door opened a sliver, and then just wide enough for Tucker's head to peer out. Elliot could just barely see the man's white collared shirt, loose and mis-buttoned.

"What's this?" said Tucker, not opening the door any wider.

Elliot tried to play it cool, not wanting to spook Tucker. "Just looking for Liv. She hasn't been home, and the baby-sitter says she was due home long ago."

"She's not here, sorry. I'll try to call her, let you know if I hear from her."

Elliot nodded curtly, toying with the idea of shoving his foot in the door to keep it open. Instead, he said, "Can we come in and talk to you? Just for a minute."

Tucker rubbed the back of his head. "Nah, man. Normally I would, but I've been under the weather today."

Elliot wanted to barge in, but he had no legitimate reason to, and Olivia _could_ have gone somewhere else besides Tucker's place. If he broke into the guy's home without a warrant, it would earn him some serious grief with the FBI. Still, he lingered for a moment, trying to think of a reason to stall Tucker.

And then a faint, muffled moan floated from somewhere back in the recesses of Tucker's apartment, and that was Elliot's signal to act. He slammed the door back, jamming it into Tucker's face and knocking the man off-balance. Without hesitating, he sprang through the doorway and jabbed Tucker with his fist before the guy could recover from the last blow. But Tucker was solid—he got his balance back fast, and began to raise his right hand, which Elliot now saw contained a gun. Elliot kicked Tucker's hand away and the gun went flying, and then Fin was able to jump into the action, taking a swipe at Tucker from the side.

Tucker shook his head in surprise, giving Elliot just enough time to draw his own gun and point it straight at Tucker's head. "Freeze," he shouted. "Now where's Liv?"

To his left, Fin got busy sweeping the rooms, looking for any signs of movement. When he reached the bedroom he said, "El, you better get in here. Now."

"Put your hands up and turn around," Elliot said to Tucker, who glared at him but obeyed slowly. Elliot slapped some handcuffs on him and pulled him along into the bedroom.

But he forgot about Tucker for a second when he witnessed the most obvious sight in the room—Olivia naked, hanging from a meat hook, looking like a limp rag doll that a child had abandoned. Fin stood at her side, trying to hoist her up, but didn't have much luck with Olivia's sagging body. Elliot turned to Tucker and barked, "Sit down on the floor."

Tucker complied, and Elliot took one glance at the stripes on Olivia's back and turned back toward Tucker. "You piece of shit," he said through gritted teeth, kicking Tucker so hard in the chin that it knocked him out cold.

Then Elliot tucked his gun back into his holster and turned his attention to Olivia, coming up on her other side. Her head wobbled forward, and he said to her, "Liv, we're going to get you down now."

Fin and Elliot lifted her up, trying to avoid touching the whip marks on her back, but she still whimpered and sucked air through her teeth. Elliot had to reach up while holding her by the waist and maneuver her arms so that the rope would come off the hook. Finally, it worked, and her arms flopped down in front of her.

They lowered her gently, and as soon as her feet touched the ground, she tried to stand, but her wobbling legs collapsed underneath her. Elliot and Fin caught her and lowered her to the ground, placing her on her side, and Elliot tinkered with the gag in her mouth until he could get the damn thing undone.

"Oh, my God," said Fin, and Elliot didn't want to look away from her face, but he had to see how bad she was hurt. Straight lines criss-crossed her back and buttocks, and some of the marks oozed dark red, shiny with blood. Pieces of flesh had been peeled back from the force of the whip, and Elliot's cheeks flushed hot with tears and anger, but he bit it all back for her sake.

"I'll call it in," said Fin, and he turned away from her and got busy on his phone.

"Liv, it's okay. You're safe now," Elliot said, bringing his attention back to her furrowed brow as she seethed from the pain. He stroked her arm with his hand and said, "I'll be right back."

As much as he hated to use anything of Tucker's, Elliot reluctantly plied the man's bedsheet from his bed and snatched a pillow. Returning to Olivia's side just as Fin cut the ropes off her pale, blood-drained hands, Elliot gently lifted her head to prop the pillow underneath it, and then carefully lowered the sheet over her body. She winced, closing her eyes, and shivered underneath the blanket.

Her hand peeked out from under the cover, and he used the opportunity to snatch it up in his, and he couldn't help but worry about how cold it was. She clutched her fingers tightly around his, squeezing as hard as she could with the miniscule strength she had left. So far she hadn't spoken, and he hadn't tried to prompt her to, hoping instead she would conserve her energy. But now her eyes met his and her voice came out, soft yet gravelly, rasping, "W-where have you been?"

It was the last thing he expected to hear from her. Where had he been? What did she mean? He had gotten here as soon as he could.

But he chalked it up to shock from the trauma, and pulled the cover up to her ear, still clutching her hand tightly in his. "Shh . . . it's okay, Liv. I'm here now."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Elliot longed to touch her hair, to gently stroke her arm, to remove her pain and transfer it to his own body so she could sleep off everything that had just happened. But he was afraid to touch her, other than the hand that now gripped his like a vice, for fear that any skin contact would only amplify her misery.

She looked trapped within her own hell—her lips and eyelids drawn tight, occasionally rocking back and forth on her torso with a new wave of anguish.

"They're coming," Fin shouted from the front door, where he had stood as a lookout to guide the paramedics. When the two men lifted Olivia onto the stretcher, she cried out with the sound of a wounded child, and Elliot's heart nearly shattered. And still her hand clutched his.

He considered for a moment letting go of that hand just long enough to go beat Tucker until his skull caved in—he was pretty sure nobody would dare prosecute him for that murder. But he decided he would not let go of her—not now or ever, as long as they allowed him to hold on. As they passed Fin on the way out, though, Elliot said to him through gritted teeth, "Save him for me."

Fin nodded, and Elliot knew he understood the secret code—Elliot would have first dibs on Tucker in the interrogation room, when he was done tending to Olivia's health.

And he kept holding on to her hand—in the ambulance, where paramedics graced her with fresh blankets to replace Tucker's blood-stained sheets. They started an IV for her, calling out words over the radio like, "multiple lacerations" and "exsanguination."

And still he held her hand, while medical staff wheeled her through the ER, into the triage room. She didn't talk—not since that moment when she gave him the worst guilt-trip ever. Nurses came and go, and reassured her with their silky voices. They carefully slipped an ugly flowered hospital gown on the front of her, careful not to get anywhere near her wounds. None of them dared touch her back until the doctor came in, and Elliot was afraid that would be the end of her medical treatment once he saw her reaction.

"Ms. Benson, I'm just going to take a look—," the doctor said, just before coming up behind her and touching one strip of bleeding flesh.

Elliot had never heard such a menacing snarl come from her mouth, and she rolled away from him on her belly to her other side and threw up her hands, snarling, "Get back!"

Elliot reached over to grab her hand again, saying softly, "Liv, it's okay. They need to treat you."

"It's alright," the doctor said, softening his tone. "Olivia, we'll give you a sedative and a painkiller in your IV, and that'll help with the examination, okay?"

Liv nodded weakly, her wide eyes softening, her mouth relaxing to a slackened frown. Then she focused all her attention on Elliot's hand surrounding hers, and placed her other hand on top of it, bringing it up under her chin like a child snuggling a stuffed animal. A nurse brought in some meds and injected them into her IV line, and Elliot watched her relax until her eyes shut and her long, slender fingers loosened in his hand, her hand finally letting go.

When he was satisfied that Olivia was out cold for a while, Elliot took a cab back to the precinct. Olivia's co-workers surrounded him on his way to the interrogation room, wanting updates. He waved them off with minimal details, telling them doctors estimated she had endured up to fifty lashes, and she was stable but in serious condition. He couldn't focus on commiserating with the others right now—he had more important work to do.

At the window to the interrogation room, Fin stood watch over Tucker, who was handcuffed to the table. "Just like you said, Elliot—first dibs."

Elliot leaned in close to Fin and said, "Fin, do me a favor, just disappear for a few minutes, will ya?"

Fin rolled his eyes toward Elliot. "No way, man. I gave him to you, but you know I gotta hear this, in case the feds drop the ball."

Elliot knew Fin's stated reason was bullshit—Elliot was under no obligation to let Fin listen in. Fin just didn't trust Elliot alone with Tucker—probably wanting to keep some level of control over the beast he knew Elliot could be.

Elliot paced, trying to decide how hard to press Fin. But Fin looked solid in his decision to stay, so Elliot gave up. "Alright, but you didn't see anything."

"We'll see," Fin said as a warning, just before Elliot clutched the door handle and burst into the room.

But he wouldn't let Tucker off with a quick beating. No, he wanted to see the bastard squirm. He slid the empty chair across from Tucker out from under the table without making a sound, and sat comfortably in it, sniffling while he got situated with his hands clasped in front of him. He cleared his throat, staring at Tucker without saying a word for at least ten unbearable seconds.

Staring into Tucker's beady, intense eyes, Elliot finally spoke, his voice even. "So, you want to explain what the lieutenant formally in charge of the Special Victims Unit was doing hanging in your apartment with whip marks on her back? Or do you want to be a pussy and lawyer up?"

Tucker's lips tightened, a smirk hiding on the edges of them, and said, "She liked it rough. We played like that all the time." Now he smiled, nearly causing Elliot to jump out of his chair to knock the grin off his lips. "You can ask her—I sometimes like to choke her during . . . lovemaking, and she always comes back for more."

Unable to restrain himself anymore, Elliot lunged at Tucker, causing the asshole to jump. But the move was purely for effect, and Elliot stopped himself from crossing the table. Instead, he stood up and circled the room, moving in closer to Tucker with every loop around the table.

"So you're saying, being flogged half to death like a prisoner, by an instrument only used on farm animals, while hanging from a hook was . . . consensual? That she _wanted_ it?"

"Oh, I don't know, you'll have to ask her that. But we had a safety word, and she didn't say it, so—"

By now, Elliot was directly behind Tucker, and the dirt-bag had too much pride to look over his shoulder at Elliot. He decided he had heard enough of the douche's accusations against Olivia, and he wrapped his arm around Tucker's neck from behind so that the man's throat rested in his elbow, and squeezed so hard he was afraid he might snap the guy's neck. Tucker squirmed violently, his face turning red and then purple, as Elliot continued choking him, his anger spilling out into his arm muscles.

"What's the safe word, huh?" he muttered into Tucker's ear.

A knock sounded at the window, but nobody burst in. Just when Elliot thought Tucker might pass out, he unhooked his elbow from Tucker's neck.

Tucker coughed and sputtered, trying to get his breath back. Then he rasped, "I'll take that lawyer now."

"What was that? I didn't hear you," Elliot said, determined to make the guy suffer even worse than Oliva had.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Author's Comments:_** _One more day!_

Chapter Nine

"C'mon, Stabler, I asked for my attorney. You have to stop the interrogation."

Elliot said forcefully, "It's really loud in here. I'm having a hard time hearing." He looked up at the mirrored window. "Can you hear what he's saying Fin?" After a moment of silence, he said, "Now, where were we? You were saying how you like it rough? You mean like this?"

Elliot decked Tucker in the cheek with a fist, and Tucker let out a satisfying grunt. Elliot pulled Tucker's chair out and to the side as far as he could with Tucker's hands still chained to the table. "Stabler, c'mon. You know I can file—"

"Did you like a little of this?" Elliot jabbed Tucker in the ribs with his knuckles so hard that he was sure there would be bruising on his own fingers later, but then he followed it up with another punch to Tucker's ribcage. Tucker sagged, inhaling sharply.

Taking advantage of Tucker's weakened state, Elliot grabbed the bottom half of Tucker's leg and held it out straight. Just as Tucker began to struggle to pull his leg away, Elliot brought his knee down just above Tucker's knee, and heard a pleasing snap followed by a pitiful howl.

A knock came on the window again, and gratitude toward Fin's unwillingness to intervene washed over Elliot. He turned to the window and held up a finger, his breath labored as he said, "Just one more minute. I promise he'll live."

He half-expected Fin or someone else to wash in and restrain him, telling him the interrogation was over. But the door never opened, and Elliot looked back at Tucker, who was writhing from the pain of a broken femur bone.

Elliot decided to drag it out as long as he could by using Tucker's face and ribs as a punching bag a little longer, and then he prepared for the grand finale by standing over the slimeball, watching as Tucker's battered head rolled up and he pleaded in a whisper, "Please."

"Is that what Olivia said when you beat her?"

Elliot faced Tucker and placed his hands on the man's shoulders, and then dropped all his weight on one knee that landed in Tucker's crotch. Elliot didn't think he had ever heard a scream so piercing in all his life. "That's only half of what you deserve for torturing her," he said through locked teeth into Tucker's ear.

Now the door clicked open, but before Fin could pull Elliot away, he stood and backed up with his hands in the air, saying loudly, "It's alright, Fin. He'll be fine. That's what he gets for trying to assault me."

Then he un-cuffed Tucker's hands and cast one last furious glance into Fin's wide eyes before exiting the room. He paused in the hallway when he discovered two other members of Liv's squad—Rollins and Carisi—standing with mouths agape, apparently having watched him during part or all of the interrogation. "Excuse me," he said, brushing past Rollins with his head held high.

"How could you do that?" she said, following him. "I mean, I'm glad the bastard got what he deserved, but now we can't use any of that against him."

Elliot headed toward the elevator. "I wouldn't have done it if we didn't have enough to lock him up regardless of his testimony."

Rollins trailed him all the way to the elevator, speechless, and then watched him get on. Now the only thing Elliot could hope for was that Liv's fellow officers would keep their mouths shut. But even if he lost his job, or even his freedom, it was worth it to give the asshole his just desserts.

 _Whoosh-crack . . . whoosh-crack . . . whoosh-crack . . ._ light pierced through Olivia's eyelids, muffled sounds growing clearer as her aching body forced her into consciousness.

 _Crack._ " . . . said as long as there's no infection, she'd probably . . ."

 _Whoosh . . ._ " . . . good, I'll let her rest . . ."

 _Crack . . ._ She startled the rest of the way awake, unable to remember where she was, looking around for Tucker, moving her arms to find that they were no longer bound above her head. But now she recognized the voices she had heard, not as Tucker's, but Elliot's and Carisi's. The sound she had heard must have been the door closing, combined with the monitoring equipment she could see now attached to her finger.

Her fingers—and her hand—looked splotchy with dull gray markings, with red marks around her wrists where the rope had rubbed them raw.

"Hey," said Elliot's voice, and she now noticed him sitting next to the bed where she lay on her side, facing him.

"Hey," she said back. She didn't want to look at him, ashamed of the predicament she had gotten herself into, which he had tried to warn her about.

Suddenly she remembered Noah, and panicked for a second, trying to sit up, but the pain, combined with Elliot's hands, kept her down. "What about Noah?" she said. "He needs his mom—"

"It's okay, Liv. The babysitter is keeping him tonight."

"Lucy?"

He nodded. She settled back down and tried to get her bearings in her groggy state.

She didn't remember much about the rescue—only bits and pieces, like Fin's face next to hers as he tried to hoist up her dead weight so he could free her from the hook. Or Elliot's hand, which had held hers the entire time—she did remember that. That hand now rested on the arm of the chair in which he sat, just a short distance from hers, and she wanted it again.

She leaned toward him, reaching out, but he was too far away, and every movement made her body scream.

"Hey, don't try to move," said Elliot, leaning toward her to anticipate her needs. "Your stitches are still fresh—you need to lie still so they won't rip. Just tell me what you want."

She blinked back tears of frustration, not wanting to admit to needing anything right now. What she had been through had already been humiliating enough. But she was desperate, and she was going to suck up her pride and ask anyway.

"I . . . can I have your hand?" she said, her voice cracking.

Elliot leaned forward without hesitation and snatched the limp, cold hand in his, and the transfer of warmth was instantaneous. "Yeah, of course." And then he did something she never would have expected—while clutching her hand tightly, he raised his other arm to cradle his elbow around her head, stroking her hair gently against her forehead. "You can have anything you want right now, Liv."

The calming touch made her feel safe for now, safe enough that the wall of tears that had been lurking behind her eyelids broke, and she released big fat salty drops with each blink. Elliot reacted to them by sweeping one away with a thumb, and then continuing to caress her matted hair. "It's okay, Liv, I'm here, and you're safe now," he said, but that only made the tears come faster.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Author's Comments:_** _Sorry I was gone for so long. First I thought the last chapter posted several days ago, but it didn't. Then I spent the last couple days working on another project—a real one! Lol._

 _But the last episode softened me to the idea of Tuckson—it was kind of sweet the way he said he was always looking out for her (although I still call B.S. Liv: Am I supposed to just forget that you tried to lock me up for murder?)._

Chapter Ten

Confusion fogged Olivia's brain, partially due to the pain meds, she knew, but also because of the pain itself, and not just the physical kind. People made her move—nurses forced her to get up, said it was either that or a catheter. At this point, she would have been content to just turn into a puddle on the bed and never move again.

Noah's babysitter Lucy brought him in for a visit, and he ran happily to her bed, shrieking "Mommy!" But he began to fuss when Lucy and Elliot wouldn't let him up on the bed with her, and that made Olivia tear up, misery overcoming her in deep waves when she realized how much this whole ordeal had affected her.

Finally, she couldn't take any more of his little arms reaching up to her, and she patted the bed in front of her and said to Elliot, "Set him up here." When he gave her a stern look, she said, "Please, Elliot."

So Elliot picked him up in one fell swoop and set him gently down in front of her on the tiny free space on the bed. Olivia scooped him in her arms and held him tight, and he didn't try to squirm away, just closed his eyes like he could fall asleep right there.

"Has he had a nap?" she asked groggily.

"No, not yet. He'll take one when we get home," said Lucy.

Olivia got in as many wet kisses and cuddling hugs as she could before Lucy took Noah away, and then she felt an empty space with his departure.

Elliot must have read her mind, because he moved in close and swept up her hand, saying, "It's hard being away from them when they're little." She didn't answer, just wiped away a tear, and he said, "It's so good to see you as a mom. I knew you'd be a pro at it."

"Thanks, Elliot."

But with Noah gone, there was nothing left but a huge chasm of grief and hot flames at her back from the hell of her wounds. A deep haze settled over her mood, partially caused by the continuous supply of pain meds, intensified by deep shame and degradation when flashbacks washed over her. At the bottom of the pit of despair were her memories of how Tucker had deceived her. She tried to hold it in, but hot tears wet her cheeks and she had to sniff them back.

Elliot gave her hand a squeeze and said, "Are you in pain?"

She didn't know how to answer that question without getting into the true cause of her pain—not the marks on her back, but the love she had felt for this man who had betrayed her. So she just nodded, whispering, "Yeah, it hurts," before shutting her eyes to fall into another restless sleep.

The doctors had Olivia so drugged up that she didn't even seem like herself. But then again, Elliot knew she needed the relief.

He had turned away countless visitors. When Fin had come to see her, and then Rollins, she had said she didn't want to see anyone but Elliot. As flattered as he felt, he wondered about her social isolation at a time when she needed to see how much the people around her cared about her.

Late that night, the second night of her stay, she began to fidget more than usual, and then she moaned. He stared at her closed eyes, wondering if he should just leave her alone to try and sleep or try to help her. Then she winced, and he said, "What is it, Liv?"

She opened her eyes, beckoning him with her wrinkled brow. "Hurts," she said. "I've pushed the button for pain meds five times and it's not working."

"They can only give you so much," he said, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her head with one finger. "But I'll see if I can get someone in here."

He found a nurse, and she changed the pain meds in Olivia's IV. Her face visibly relaxing, she said, "Mmm . . . that's better." And then her eyes closed, and Elliot decided now would be the time for more coffee.

When he got back to her room, she was squirming again, and she mumbled something at him. He leaned in close so he could hear her.

Her eyes barely open and glazed over, she mumbled, "Where were you?"

He snatched her hand into his again and said, "I just went to get coffee. It's okay."

Her words running together, she said, "No, I mean, where were you? I needed you."

The words brought back a déjà vu memory of Tucker's apartment, when he had sat by her side waiting for the ambulance. " _Where have you been?_ " she had said, and he had thought she was admonishing him for not getting there quick enough.

He had to find out what she meant. "Liv, what are you talking about? Do you mean where was I right now? I just went to get coffee."

She slurred her words so bad her could barely understand her, but he managed to make out what she was saying. "All those years, you were gone. I needed you, El . . . why weren't you here?"

Her eyes closed and her hand went limp, and he didn't even know if she was still awake, or the sandman had taken her away into a deep, dark slumber. But he had to let her know, had to tell her. He leaned over her unmoving body and brushed back the hair from her ear so he could whisper into it, "I wish I could have been here. I was too full of pride, and too stupid, and too afraid. I'm sorry, Liv. I'm here."

Then he leaned down and kissed her sleepy head, and brought her hand to his lips and kissed it too. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you. I'm here now, Liv."


	11. Chapter 11

**_Author's Comments:_** _Patience, my loves. Sweet EO moments coming up, and some good ol' EO tension as well._

Chapter Eleven

"How bad is it, Elliot?"

"Shh . . . just focus on getting to the bed."

He helped her to the bed, and she wished she didn't need his help so much, but his strong arms really did make a good crutch to lean on. She watched his muscles bulge as he helped her onto the bed.

She felt stronger today—her third day of recovery, and the doctor had encouraged her to go for short walks. But her newfound strength was merely physical—her heart was torn to shreds, and her head felt like she was trying to sort out an impossible puzzle—muddied by drugs and anxiety and unanswered questions. She hadn't asked him this question yet, but now she had to know. "How bad, El? It's pretty messed up, right?"

He shook his head, feigning ignorance. "I don't know, you're all covered up with bandaging."

But she knew it was a lie. "C'mon, El, you saw it before that." When he didn't answer, just avoided her with his pitiful eyes, she said, "I'm going to be permanently scarred, aren't I?"

She got quiet, for fear that if she continued speaking her voice might crack from the sudden flood of emotions. It wasn't that the actual physical scars would have much effect on her—she would rarely see them. But somehow, knowing she was permanently scarred was a constant reminder of the dozens of unexpected ways the people close to you could hurt you.

Elliot finally pitied her enough to meet her eyes. "It will heal, I promise. I've got my own, you know."

A nurse entered, her young hair up in a ponytail, and she began the daily dressing change on Olivia's back. As she worked her expert hands over Olivia's shredded back, she touched a particularly tender spot and Olivia flinched, inhaling sharp breaths between her teeth.

A knock interrupted her protestations, and a face peered in the door. "Oh, I'm sorry, I can come back—"

"It's okay, Barba, she's just finishing up," Liv said, hurting too much to be embarrassed. "Just wait outside for a minute."

He obeyed, tipping his coffee cup to her as he backed out. "

Ah, crap," said El.

"What?"

"Well, I'm not sure if he's here to visit you or to lay into me. I'm sure he's not too happy to see my face right now."

"Why?"

The nurse left, and Barba knocked again. "Come in," said Olivia weakly, laying down on her side again with Elliot's help. She couldn't help but notice how sweet he was, pulling the sheets up over her. But if chivalry was the only sign of a good man, her fateful night with Tucker would never had happened.

Barba came in, a beautiful flower arrangement in hand, head hanging like a dog in trouble. If he was mad at Elliot for something, Olivia would have never been able to tell with his repentant look. "Liv, I'm so sorry. How are you feeling?" Before she could decide whether to be honest or to avoid his pity by lying, he said, "Don't answer that. Of course you're . . ."

He let the words trail off and nudged Elliot out of the way so he could lean in close. "I just wanted to come tell you myself how sorry I am. I feel like if I had just made my warnings to you a little more clear—"

She shook her head, feeling too weak for this conversation all of a sudden, but knowing how serious and necessary it was. "It's okay, Barba," she said softly. "There's no way you could have known, unless—you didn't know about the rape of the prostitute, did you?"

He paused, and for a second she thought she might slip into a rage, if he gave her the wrong answer. "No. But I had heard that he'd raped someone. I swear, I didn't know the details. It was all just unconfirmed rumors. But still I—I feel like I should have done a better job warning you of the dangers—"

She didn't want to let the flood of memories come up again, so she interrupted him, saying, "Hey, don't blame yourself for that monster. You didn't create him. Please tell me we have a case against him, though."

Barba glanced up at Elliot, and she thought she detected that anger that Elliot had hinted at. "Yeah. We don't have as _much_ evidence as we did before he got beat up in police custody, but there's still a solid case—" He must have noticed her eyes widen, because he looked up at Elliot and said, "You didn't tell her."

"Tell me what, El?" she said as forcefully as her aching body would allow.

He scratched his head, his eyes squinting. "I, uh . . . let's just say Tucker might have run into some problems in the interrogation room."

"Problems, like Elliot's fists," Barba said with condemnation in his voice.

Her mouth widened as she stared up at Elliot. "El, what did you . . .?"

"Broken leg, a few busted ribs, face beaten to a pulp, and," Barba cleared his throat, "severe injury to the groin area."

Olivia shut her lips tight, not sure whether to be enraged or grateful. She knew she would be the latter if Elliot's uncontrolled temper didn't lessen the chances that Tucker would end up behind bars. "I'm sorry, Liv," Elliot said, his eyes softening with remorse.

Barba touched her hand, his words soft like butter. "It's okay, Liv. There's still plenty to put him away. Not only do we have your testimony, and pictures of what he did to you, but now we have the testimony of the woman he did this to before."

She nodded, satisfied, blinking back tears. In this one moment, she wanted to roll away from the two of them, as gracious as they were being, just to have her privacy. Instead, she shut her eyes tight and listened to herself spill her darkest thoughts. "I don't trust my own judgment anyone after this. For all I know, you two could be a murderer and a child molester, and I'd never know it."

Barba laughed uneasily, but she opened her eyes to see them both staring at her, squirming in uncomfortable silence.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Author's Comments:_** _Happy Easter all!_

Chapter Twelve

 _Whoosh . . ._. The sound cast a swath of noise into an otherwise unsettlingly silent, dark hospital room. But she blinked, steadying her nerves and rubbing her eyes to see who was paying her a visit this late at night. Elliot was gone—Olivia made him leave to get some sleep. She glanced at the only light in the room—the glowing blue of the numbers on the hospital's digital clock. 2:30.

Blinking back sleep, she saw that the person in the room was medical staff—possibly a nurse.

 _Crack . . ._. She cringed involuntarily. Even after it became obvious that the noise was the nurse accidentally dropping something into the sink, Olivia's heart pounded and her arms went numb. The person turned toward her, and her hairs stood on end when she saw that the person, who was wearing scrubs, was a man. He approached her with a syringe.

"Just changing out meds," he said quietly, but she found his voice eerie and low. But she lay still while he clamped her IV shut and wiped down the new tube with an alcohol wipe. His fingers gripped the tube with gloved hands, and then he snatched her arm in one hand and the tight rubber of his gloves felt cold and wet on her skin.

"Hey, why don't you dance for me?" The man's voice turned seedy and seductive, and Olivia backed away from him, shaking her head in a soundless scream.

Elliot rolled onto his back after the sharp sound of his ringtone jolted him awake. He looked over at the clock in his hotel room—3:00. What in the hell would anyone be doing calling him this time of night?

But he answered it, because he had a job that sometimes interfered with basic life functions, like sleep. "Yeah?" he said, rubbing his eyes.

"Elliot Stabler?" It was not a voice he recognized.

"Yeah?"

"This is Nurse Cranston at Presbyterian Hospital here. I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

He knew his voice still sounded groggy, but he sat up when he heard where she was calling from. "Well, generally people are asleep at 3 a.m., but it's okay. Is this about Olivia Benson? Is she okay?"

"Well, actually, there's been an . . . incident. Nothing big—she's okay. But she got a little spooked when one of the nurses checked up on her, and she wants to talk to you."

"Alright. I'm coming down there. Tell her I'm on my way."

 _Incident._ What did that mean, exactly? He could only wonder.

When he got into her room, she was sitting up but half out of it, and he wondered if they had drugged her even more. He knelt down in front of her, and she said, "Elliot, thank God you're here."

"What's the matter?"

In her eyes he saw wild-eyed terror, scanning the room for any sign of danger. "I don't know. It's just stupid. I just want to go home. I asked them if I could leave. They said I had to wait until tomorrow, or I would be going AMA."

"Against medical advice?" He set his hand on hers. "Why do you want to leave now? Did something happen?"

She glanced up at the nurses, and he followed her line of sight, recognizing that she wanted privacy. He said to them, "Can I talk to her alone for a moment?"

One nurse nodded and both stepped out. He squeezed her hand, and she relaxed just a tiny bit before looking into his eyes. "El, I—I thought I saw something, but I didn't, and I just . . . I just want to go home."

"Saw what?"

"I thought there was a male nurse, and that he was trying to take advantage, but—"

Elliot could feel his muscles tensing, ready to go put a fist through someone's jaw. "Well, did he? Because I'll—"

"That's just it, El," she interrupted. "I freaked out, kicked out at the nurse. And then when I blinked, I saw that it was really a female nurse, and she swears she didn't say anything to me the whole time."

Elliot paused, trying to make sense of what she had just said. "Maybe . . . you were dreaming?" he offered.

She shook her head, staring down at a tile in the floor now in shame. "No, I wasn't. I was awake. The nurse confirmed it."

"Then what, Liv? You . . . hallucinated?"

She slowly nodded, and then finally said, "I guess so." Her eyes pleaded with him now, and she said, "I don't know what's wrong with me, El. I just want to go home." Then she whispered, "Please," wrinkles forming in her forehead as she fought back tears.

He couldn't stand to see her like this, couldn't stand to see her cry, so he said, "Maybe it was just from the meds. But I'll see what I can do."

Within an hour, he was carefully helping her onto the elevator in her building, holding onto her underneath her arms so he wouldn't hurt her back. She walked pretty well on her own, but when they were inside the elevator, she faced him and leaned against him, looking weary. He leaned back against the wall of the elevator, allowing her to put all her weight on him.

Her body pressing into him, she molded into him, comfortably resting her head into the nook of his neck, and he could almost feel her tiredness draining into him as well. He ran his hand through her hair, and then stroked the black locks down against her head, and she said, "Mmm. . ."

He kissed the top of her head, and she pulled her head back to look at him now. Her eyes drooped as if she could barely keep them open, but a lazy smile formed on her face. "Thanks for doing this, El. I'm sorry for dragging you out of bed at—"

"No, it's not a problem," he stopped her.

Her eyes locked on his in a weary yet grateful gaze, and now he saw something else in them—a sparkle, perhaps? He swept a strand of her hair out of her eyes with one finger so he could see them better, and now he could really capture her beauty—the fullness of her lips glistening in the low elevator light. She licked them, and he braced himself, because he had a feeling he was about to be blown away. She leaned her head into him, and he closed his eyes and decided to wait and see what she did, instead of forcing things by giving in to his impulse to open his mouth against hers. But she didn't disappoint, and her lips made contact with his, gently pressing into them, sending shivers through his entire body.

He let her take the lead, his muscles loosening one at a time until his limbs turned to jelly from the heat of her kiss. She deepened it, her mouth hungrily working at his, their tongues flirting with one another, and when she finally stopped for a second to take a breath, he gasped. He opened his eyes just enough to see her mouth half-open, panting, nostrils flaring to breathe in his air and savor his presence.

"Elliot," she exhaled, and then the elevator stopped and dinged, the doors sliding open at her floor.

He knew that was it for the night, that she had used up every last bit of her energy to open the valve on her pent-up passion. But that one kiss would last him as long as he needed it to, could last him forever, as it would always be scorched into his memories.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Olivia woke to the smell of coffee wafting in from her kitchen, and she knew Elliot had never left. Weak sunlight filtered in and sprayed her face, and she moaned when she moved and discovered that the pain had not left with the darkness. But she forced herself out of bed anyway, slowly shuffling into the kitchen to find Elliot pouring a glass of orange juice.

"Hey," he said when he saw her, and then he rushed to her side to guide her to the table by her elbow. "I thought I heard you get up. Here's some juice."

She sat in a kitchen chair, and he helped ease her down, sitting in the chair next to her with coffee steaming from a cup. "Thanks, El," she said, taking a sip from her juice. "And thanks for staying—you didn't have to do that."

"Nah, it's fine," he said, dismissing her concerns with the wave of his hand. "I just thought you might want someone here your first night home. You doing okay?"

His eyes tenderly looked her over, and she appreciated his care. "Yeah, although I could use a pain pill," she said, yawning. He got up to get her one, and when he returned he set it in her open palm. Her fingers closed around his for a second, and while she had his attention, she said, "By the way, I just want to apologize for what happened last night—I mean, this morning, when we got home . . ."

"In the elevator?"

"Yeah." He looked like he was trying to hold back a smile, and she said, "I just—I don't want to interfere with you and Kathy, or—"

"Hey, it's okay. Me and Kathy, we . . . we're divorced."

She tried to give him her most sympathetic look and said, "I'm so sorry, El."

"Don't be." She couldn't detect a hint of sadness in his voice. "It happened a long time ago, and we're both fine with it now. Turns out we're better parents apart than we are together. And last night—that was . . . really nice."

She smiled, looking down at her hands bashfully. "Yeah, I thought so too."

He must have taken their awkward silence as a sign that he could change the subject, because he said, "I wanted to talk to you about the other thing that happened last night." Sitting down now, he reached across the table and scooped up her hand. "Are you sure what you thought happened didn't really happen? There was no man, no assault?"

She shook her head vigorously. "It was weird, El. Foggy, like a dream but not. I was pretty out of it. But there was definitely no man in my room."

He hesitated before speaking again, but gave her hand a squeeze and then said, "You know me—I'm no fan of psychology, but maybe you ought to see someone about that."

She bit her bottom lip, staring at their hands intertwined. "Maybe so. I have someone already. I have so many other things to take care of, though—"

As if on cue, her phone sounded from the charger where Elliot had plugged it in for her last night. He got up and retrieved it for her, handing it to her. A female voice came to her after she answered, saying, "Olivia? It's Lucy."

"Hi, I'm glad you called."

Lucy had called the hospital and learned that Olivia came home, and wanted to know what to do about Noah. After discussing Liv's condition, Lucy offered to keep Noah at night and bring him to Liv's home during the day so she could spend time with him without overextending Liv. When she was feeling up to it, hopefully within the next week, Liv would keep Noah full-time. She was so glad to have a wonderful baby-sitter, willing to go above and beyond. She planned to reward Lucy appropriately.

While she was talking to Lucy, Elliot's phone rang as well, and he went into the other room to talk. Olivia didn't think anything of it, figuring he just didn't want to talk over her. When she got off the phone, she sat silently in her chair, her head still weary and clouded. The silence rang in her ears, punctuated only by muffled sounds of Elliot's voice from her bedroom.

She decided to follow him, not just to let him know she was off the phone, but also to lie down on the bed, this small amount of activity already exhausting her. His voice grew louder as she approached her bedroom, until she could hear what he was saying. She stopped just outside the door after she heard him say, "Yeah, I miss you too baby. Yeah, I can't wait."

Her mouth fell open, and she didn't want to spy, but she couldn't seem to un-plant her feet from the spot. He continued his side of the conversation, his voice growing more seductive. "Yeah, that sounds sexy. What are you wearing?"

Now her lips clenched shut, and her hands balled into fists. He didn't say much after that, just "Mmmm," and "Uh-huh, sure." And then he laughed and hung up.

Olivia wanted to dismiss what he had said, to find a way to let it go. But she couldn't think of another meaning for the words he had uttered, and when she tried to find an excuse for him, her head spun and she had to clasp a hand to her forehead. Dizziness threatened to overtake her, and she turned to go sit down, unable to make sense of the last few minutes. Apparently, men could never be trusted, period. Was there one good man in the entire world? She was beginning to doubt it.

Elliot's footsteps sounded behind her, and he touched her shoulder, saying, "Oh, I didn't know you were out here. You okay?" She didn't look at him, but she could imagine the feigned concern on his face. "Do you need to lie down?"

He tried to guide her, to turn her around and steer her toward her bedroom, but she shoved his hand away with the wave of her arm, saying, "Don't touch me, Elliot."

She shuffled toward the kitchen, and she heard silence as his feet stopped, and then he caught up to her. "What's wrong, Liv?"

She didn't know what to say to him, so she said nothing, at first. And then she found her voice, spinning around to face him. "You son of a bitch. You lied to me." His jaw fell open, but that didn't stop her. "You either aren't done with Kathy, or you have someone else, and you didn't tell me. Either way, I'm done with you."

"Liv, I don't—"

"I don't want to hear it, El," she shouted. "I heard you on the phone just now."

"But I didn't say anyth—"

"Get out! I'm not listening to any more lies."

His eyebrows came together in points, his mouth open wide, and he tried one last time. "Liv, I don't know what you think you heard, but—"

The volume of her voice surprised even her, and she thought the neighbors might call the police when she yelled, "I said get out!"

Pointing at the door, her chest heaving, she watched Elliot's face fall. Then he fell silent and turned to the door, pausing one last time with his hand on the doorknob before he opened it and left her sight.


	14. Chapter 14

**_Author's Comments:_** _Nothing more horrifying than writing half a chapter and watching the entire thing disappear. And apparently the newest version of Word only auto-saves every two hours. If you squint, you can probably see the stains of my tears between the words._

Chapter Fourteen

Elliot left Olivia's apartment wanting to turn around and punch a hole in her door. He had just gotten off the phone after talking to his supervisor, a man, about mundane work-related matters when she lobbed wild accusations about other women at him, without giving him one chance to explain, or even talk to her about what she had thought she heard. He stormed down the hallway to the elevator, so pissed at her that he wasn't sure he wanted to have anything to do with her anymore.

But by the time he got down to the first floor, he had calmed down enough to wonder if something was going on with her. She had imagined people and voices that weren't there while staying in the hospital. Now he got in a cab and rubbed the back of his neck, realizing more and more that something wasn't right. He made a phone call.

"Fin, this is Elliot. . . Yeah, do you know the name of the psychotherapist Olivia saw after Lewis assaulted her?"

After kicking Elliot out, Olivia became obsessed with his betrayal. How could he do this to her—hurt her so bad when she was already at her lowest point? Whenever she thought about it, her eyes stung from the tears that wanted to escape, but couldn't because of her iron grip on them.

The only thing that made Olivia feel better about this day was her time with Noah. Lucy brought him over, and the first thing he did was run up to her and give her a big hug. While Lucy unloaded groceries in the kitchen, Olivia held Noah on her lap in the living room, ignoring the pain and tearing up when his little hands grasped her hair and he said, "Mommy."

She smiled at him, whispering in his ear, "Looks like it's just you and me now, baby. You and me against the world. People will try to hurt us, but we'll always have each other."

His big eyes looked into hers, and she melted into them. Then she watched him play on the floor with his favorite toys, too tired and sore to get down there with him. She lay on her side on the couch for as long as she could, and then Lucy must have sensed her weariness, because she said, "Okay, Noah, time for a nap."

As much as Olivia loved her son, she was relieved when Lucy took him into the other room to nap, even if he did fuss a little. But just as she was about to drop off for a nap of her own, the door knocked. "Shit," she said, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

Lucy was still busy with Noah, so Olivia had to answer the door herself, but she was determined not to let in Elliot, if that's who it was. She buzzed the intercom, saying, "Yes?"

"Olivia? It's Dr. Lindstrom."

Her palms started to sweat, and she struggled to come up with a response. Here was her therapist, in the flesh, but why? Was he in on some conspiracy with her co-workers, or worse—Elliot? And what exactly did he want?

She thought about just turning him away. But if she trusted not one other person in the world, she trusted him. He had never hurt her, never tried to seduce her, never given her one reason not to believe he was a good person. "Dr. Lindstrom," she said shakily over the intercom. "What can I do for you?"

"Can I come up?"

She hesitated, but then said, "Sure."

Grateful that Noah was in the other room asleep, she told Lucy she needed privacy, and went to the door to let Dr. Lindstrom in. He greeted her with a worried smile when she opened the door, and waited for her to lead her inside, without being pushy or impatient. She showed him to the kitchen table and sat across from him. He studied her for a second and then said, "Olivia, I'm so sorry to hear what happened to you. How are you doing?"

She stared down at her hands resting on the table. "Could be better. But I survived, and I'll pull through."

"Okay, so you're recovering physically. What about emotionally and mentally?"

She sighed, looking up at him now. "Dr. Lindstrom, I appreciate your concern, and your visit, I really do. But what brought you here? Did someone contact you?"

He leaned back. "You got me, Liv. I did have a phone call from a concerned friend."

She scooted her chair back and rolled her eyes. "I bet I can guess who that was—"

"But," he said, before she could rampage, "this person said you were experiencing some disturbing symptoms, including something about hallucinations?"

She took a deep breath, trying to decide how much to confide in him. But if anyone could help her, it was him. "Yeah. I did experience something like that in the hospital. But it was only one time. Might have been the painkillers they have me on."

He paused, as if trying to decide whether or not to bring up something else with her. But then he said, "Olivia, you might be aware of this already in your line of work, but sometimes, severe and repeated PTSD can bring on psychotic episodes. It can cause paranoia, auditory and even visual hallucinations. It's rare, but—"

"I'd thought of that. But there haven't been any repeat incidents, and so far it's been the usual symptoms—flashbacks, sadness . . ." She trailed off, staring into space, wondering how things could feel so gloomy.

He tried to get her to make eye contact, but she wasn't in the mood. Maybe she would feel hope again, sometime in the future. Right now life was looking pretty bleak.

"I want you to stay in touch with me, Olivia. And we might consider putting you on some antidepressants if you don't feel better soon, okay?"

She nodded, finally giving him a glance. His face was so kind. But so was Tucker's, at times, and so was Elliot's. It was going to take a lot of time and no violations of any of her boundaries or morals before she could have faith in him, or anyone else, again.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Elliot checked his phone for what seemed like the five-hundredth time, and then tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him in his hotel room. He was still staying in New York, still working, but it was hard to concentrate on the case at hand when he was so obsessed with Olivia. It had been two weeks since he had talked to her, and he had no idea how she was doing, except for what he heard through Fin, which wasn't much. Fin had checked in with her two days ago, and he said she was recovering physically but had sounded guarded and off, not her usual confident, strong self.

Elliot wasn't sure why he expected a call from her. He hadn't been here to help her through the ordeal with Lewis, and no telling what emotional toll that had cost her or what she'd been through since then. But they had shared a moment of intimacy in the elevator of her building, and then all contact dropped off so quickly that he couldn't believe she'd never given him another thought.

But he wasn't going to stalk her. If she wanted to contact him, she would. Not hearing her voice didn't stop him from thinking of her silky dark hair and her longing eyes after their kiss, though. He tried not to imagine what her legs would do if they were wrapped around him . . . .

He thought he might just call it a night with work—it was getting too hard to make his mind focus on underage prostitute scandals. Maybe he would just get a drink.

His hand buzzed from his ringing phone, and he almost dropped it in alarm. Instead, he brought it to his ear and answered, saying, "Hello?"

A male voice said, "Elliot Stabler?"

"Speaking."

"Elliot, this is Buzz Goddard, from the Seventeenth Precinct."

Elliot's tone lightened. "Buzz! I haven't seen you in forever. What's going on, man?"

"Hey, Elliot—I know. Sorry it's been so long since we've talked."

"What can I do for you today?"

"Well, this is kind of awkward, Elliot, but I thought I needed to give you a head's up. And maybe you can help."

Elliot scratched his head and then started to pace the length of his hotel room. He didn't like the uneasiness in Buzz's voice. "Well, we're having a little problem with someone down here at a laundromat, and I think she's your partner, or was—"

Elliot perked up. "Olivia?"

"Yep. Pretty sure it's her. Last name's Benson, right?" Elliot nodded through the phone, but Buzz kept going even though he couldn't hear Elliot's confirmation. "I think you better get down here, man. She's acting very . . . ah, strange, and threatening people. We cleared the place out, but we're having a hard time calming her down. I thought I'd let you know before things got too hairy, give you a chance to—oh, wait . . ." Elliot rubbed the back of his head, listening to Buzz have a conversation with someone on the side. "Elliot, she's drawn a gun, and—"

But Elliot didn't have time for the details. "Where are you?" he said, grabbing his jacket and gun on the way out. "I'm coming right now. Whatever you do, don't shoot her."

Elliot took his agency car and sped through the streets of Manhattan faster than a taxi driver, nearly hitting several pedestrians on his way. He couldn't miss the site of the disturbance, with all the red and blue flashing lights on the street. Officers paced behind their cars, assault rifles at the ready. He braked to a stop, not even bothering to shut the door when he leapt out, just flashing a badge to the surrounding officers and rushing straight up to the door of the laundromat.

One uniform tried to pull him back, grabbing his arm and saying, "Hey! You can't just go in there—"

Elliot shook off the guy's grip and burst in through the door of the laundromat. Then he stopped, hand resting on his gun, gawking at the sight before him. Olivia had her gun drawn and pointed at one of the washing machines, shouting, "Don't move! I mean it, don't you move." He would have thought she was getting ready to take down a perp, with her serious expression and her threatening tone, if it wasn't for the fact that nobody was standing in front of her, and the entire place was void of people.

"Olivia," he yelled, and she spun around to face him, swinging her gun in his direction.

He threw his hands in the air, keeping them wide open to show her he wasn't holding anything. "Liv," he said, more gentle this time. "Take it easy."

"Elliot," she said, her eyes narrowed, tight lines surrounding her mouth. She held her jaw clenched so tight he thought she might break some teeth.

He decided to take a chance and start easing his way toward her. "Liv, why don't you put the gun down now, okay?"

Her eyes darting at some unseen foe, she licked her lips and said, "I'm sorry, El. I can't let him get away."

He wanted to know who she was referring to, but was afraid to ask at this point. Her arms stretched out in front of her, her hands trembling, she pointed the gun in the direction of his head, and he began to wonder if he was toast. "Liv, it's okay. You're safe. Nobody's going to—"

A shot rang in his ear so loud that he thought his head might have exploded, and he instinctively ducked his head to the left and down, bringing his shoulders up to his ears. His eyes clenched shut and he tried to get his bearings, but he couldn't hear anything from the ringing in his head, couldn't feel anything but his quivering legs.

Then he opened his eyes, aware that his body wasn't in any pain, knowing he had not been hit by the bullet that whizzed right past his head. His mouth fell open and he stared at Olivia staring at him, frozen. His voice cracked at first, but eventually he managed to croak, "Liv, please put the gun down," because she still held the gun pointed straight in front of her.

She didn't move, just stood staring straight ahead, and he wasn't even sure she heard a word he said. He moved to the side, out of the path of her gun, but she didn't follow him with her eyes or her weapon, just stared out the laundromat windows, trance-like. But now she slowly lowered her arms, until her gun pointed down at the ground, and he crept to her side, deciding it might be better if he didn't say anything to spook her until he was out of danger.

He got close enough to her gun hand to reach it easily, and he grabbed at it and snatched it out of her hand, expecting her to flip out. But she stood still, statue-like, lips slightly parted, panting lightly. With the gun safely out of her hands, he said softly, "Liv?"

She didn't turn to look at him, and her glassy eyes told him she wasn't there with him yet. But then something shifted, the muscles around those dark eyes softening, and then she blinked and turned her head toward him finally. "Elliot? What—what are you doing here?" She looked around, her eyebrows crinkling, and she said, "What am I—where . . . ?"

"Are you with me now, Liv?

Her eyes, fully alive now, locked onto his, and a tremor crept into her voice. "Elliot, what the hell just happened?"


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Elliot rested a hand on Olivia's shoulder and said gently, "Come on. Let's go outside so we can sort this out."

She looked around at her surroundings: front-loading machines, dryers, laundry baskets. She was in a laundromat somehow. Elliot's hand on her shoulder nudged her forward to the front door, and she glanced through the store windows at the colorful array of lights flashing outside, trying not to let them send her into a trance again. The stimulus was too much for her frayed psyche, and she dreaded going out into the chaos.

"Put your hands up when we go out," said Elliot. "We don't want any newbs with nervous trigger fingers making mistakes."

She nodded, raising her hands. She wasn't sure why she was being treated like a criminal, but she thought it had something to do with her gun going off. She prayed nobody would cuff her and take her away in the back of a patrol car.

Elliot held the door open for her, yelling at the throngs of officers with their guns pointed at her, "Stand down! She's unarmed."

Her breathing quickened, threatening to accelerate into hyperventilation, but she closed her eyes, her hands still high in the air, and consciously inhaled deeply. _They aren't going to shoot me_ , she thought, _and they'll listen to Elliot. He's the sane one._

The sane one. So what did that mean—that she was crazy? She had to put her thoughts on hold, though, and concentrate on getting through this. So she opened her eyes and put one foot in front of the other, ignoring all the official eyes on her until she advanced past them, and Elliot guided her to an awaiting ambulance.

"I'm okay, Elliot," she said, her voice quivering. "I don't need medical attention."

His breath warmed her ear, his hand still resting on her shoulder as he said, "You're in shock. Take a warming blanket."

She couldn't argue with that. Her hands shivered so hard and her teeth rattled so much that she could have just come from the Alaskan outback. A paramedic directed her to sit on the back of the open ambulance, and when she did, he draped a blanket over her. She shut her eyes, trying to block out the sounds of chaos surrounding her. She overheard Elliot talking to a uniformed officer, trying to speak quietly so nobody else could listen in. " . . . keep this on the down-low, okay? I mean, I know it's serious, but we can handle it in-house, right?"

The guy sighed. "I don't know, Elliot. I mean, for you, I'd like to, but a shot was fired, you know what I mean?"

"Call it an accident? She's getting help—I can attest to that."

"Well, and that's the other thing, Elliot," said the officer. "At the minimum, she should be on a hold in the psych ward."

"Nah, man," said Elliot, and she could almost see his head shaking. "How about if I promise to personally vouch for her the next few days? I'll make sure she has no access to a gun, and—"

"Do I get a say in this?" said Olivia, huddled under her blanket, her eyes still shut tight.

"What?" said the officer. "Do you even realize what you just did?"

"Hey," said Elliot in his most diplomatic voice. "Why don't you let me talk to her for a minute? C'mon, you owe me that much, man."

The guy cast Elliot one last scowl and then turned away. Elliot sat next to her and said, "That's Buzz. I once covered his ass when he went a little too rough in an interrogation. He's alright."

Olivia sat in silence, staring out at the anthill of police covering her vantage point, the noise of it all making her want to pull the blanket over her head. Elliot said, "How much do you remember?"

Her head still foggy, flashes of memories came to her in small chunks. Her body tensed up as they came. "I don't . . . I don't know, El. There's pieces—a man, I think he was after me . . . and I threw some punches, and—and drew my gun . . ." Her heart sunk all the way to her gut. "None of this really happened, did it?"

He brought his arm around behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "There was nobody there, no. Police were called by a concerned patron in the laundromat, said you were attacking a washing machine."

"Oh, God," she said, clenching the edges of the blanket. "I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

"No," said Elliot, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "They cleared the place out, and—"

"And I drew my gun. In a public place." Hairs rose on the back of her neck when she realized the sequence of events that happened next. "I pointed a gun at you. I shot . . ."

She couldn't bear the thought that she had come close to killing her ex-partner, and she brought her hands to her face, covering her eyes in shame. "I almost shot you, Elliot. I wasn't trying to, I swear. I thought someone was behind you, holding you at gunpoint—"

"Shh," he said, massaging her shoulder to console her. "Let's just figure out what to do about this, okay? You heard Buzz, they want you in the psych ward."

Her muscles tensed at the thought of being locked up against her will. "I can't go . . ." But she thought of all the people who could have been harmed by her actions, and she said, "But maybe I _should_ be locked up—"

"No, absolutely not," said Elliot, his tone definitive. "I think I can talk them into letting you go home as long as you surrender your gun and let me keep an eye out. But you'll have to get some serious treatment, to make sure this doesn't happen again."

She wasn't sure she wanted Elliot to babysit her, but then again, it was better than being locked up and having debilitating meds shoved down her. "I'm seeing my therapist already," she said, closing her eyes against the ringing in her head from all the noise.

"Well then maybe he needs to come more often."

"I'll see him every day if it will keep me out of the mental hospital." She turned to look at him, alarmed by the realization of how close she had come to blowing his head off. "Are you okay, Elliot? I'm so sorry . . ."

She touched the side of his face, looking for any signs that she had grazed him, but apparently it was a clean miss. His gaze bore into her, but his eyes showed no anger, only compassion and concern for her well-being. "Hey," he said, covering the hand that rested on his face with one of his own. "Nothing personal. I'm fine. Now let's make sure you are."

He caressed her shoulder again, and their knees touched in the space between them. He screwed up his face, like he had something he wanted to say but was afraid to bring it up. "Liv, about that phone call in your apartment—I wasn't talking to another woman. I swear it was just work. I'm not sure what you thought you heard, but—"

She shook her head. "I'm not sure about anything anymore. Apparently I can't trust my own senses. I would've sworn I heard you flirting with someone, but after today . . ." She looked down at her hands, which she kept nestled in her lap. "I guess I'm going to have to have a little faith in you."

He stroked the back of her head and said, "I promise you I won't violate your trust." His hand in her hair sent shivers down her back, and he said, "Does your therapist have any idea why this is happening to you?"

She nodded, her lips clenching. "He said it's from too many traumas. I just never thought something like this could happen to me."

Weariness crept over her now, and she just wanted to sleep. Savoring his fingertips on her scalp, she leaned her head onto his shoulder and sighed. He said softly in her ear, "You're a strong woman, Olivia Benson. You survived all those traumas—you'll get through this."

She closed her eyes and tried to let those words sink in, but she was beginning to doubt her own sanity, which made it hard to believe in herself and her ability to stay strong.


	17. Chapter 17

**_Author's Comments:_** _I just decided I needed a really sweet chapter like this._

Chapter Seventeen

"Who's been taking care of you, Liv?"

Elliot said it like he was looking for someone to string up, glancing around her apartment at the trash piling up in the garbage can and the dishes scattered on the kitchen counter.

"I have," she said, staring at the stem of the wine glass in between her fingers.

But she realized he wasn't just talking about the condition of her apartment when he said, "So who's helped you change your dressing?" When she didn't answer, he said, "So, nobody?"

She shook her head, taking a sip of red before mumbling, "Lucy takes care of Noah. I handle the rest."

"When's the last time you went to the doctor?" he said, bundling up her trash and putting a new bag in the can.

"Last week," she said, taking another swig of her wine from her chair at the kitchen table.

He stood, looking at her with an expression that made her want to cry from all the sympathy in his eyes. "Can I look?" he said softly.

"At . . .?

"Your back."

A silence grew monumental between them, and she wondered how such a small decision could seem so heavy and consequential. "Y-yeah. Okay."

Immediately her body tensed up at the choice she made. _How could I let him—or anyone—touch me?_ she thought.

Granted, he had seen her in her most vulnerable condition just a few short weeks ago, and he had been with her through most of the treatment she had received at the hospital. But somehow this was different. She was better. She no longer needed him. And now she was going to allow him to tend to her wounds, which were well on their way to healing.

"C'mon," he said, taking her hand and leading her into the bathroom.

She stood facing the mirror, trying not to look at her reflection. How could she face herself, after what she had done today. PTSD or no, she had put other people's lives at risk, had almost taken out Elliot, and she couldn't stand to look at her own face.

She was grateful that Lucy had kept Noah for the night, but worried that the increasingly anxious babysitter might eventually call Child Protective Services if Olivia didn't get her shit together soon. She had a hard time remembering all of the last two weeks, but she got the sincere impression she had become more and more neglectful as the days went by.

She slipped her shirt over her head, and Elliot avoided glancing at her chest, flashing worried eyes at her face first, and then staring down at her back. "Can I . . .?" he said, touching her bra strap in the back.

"Yeah," she whispered, shivering at the touch of his fingers.

He carefully maneuvered the latch until it popped open, and then ran his fingers down the bandages on her back, finding the edge of the medical tape. Gently he pulled back the bandaging until the whole chunk of it was off, and she flinched when it stuck to her skin.

He ran his fingers lightly down a spot of skin where the lash-marks had healed. "It's looking better," he said, meeting her eyes now. "But it needs to be redressed, and you need medicine."

She didn't even wait for him to ask, just nodded and handed him the antibiotic ointment, and he set out touching different areas with his fingertips while she tried not to wince and pull away. He reached a spot on the outer edge of the wounds that was becoming intolerably itchy, and it felt good when he ran his fingers over that patch of skin with his fingers. She sagged, closing her eyes and taking in his touch with a sigh.

"Feel good?" he whispered into her ear.

"Yeah," she said, wishing that he would take that same hand and move other places, and her nipples hardened at the thought.

He must have noticed, because he kissed her ear, and she shuddered. His hand moved up to the nape of her neck, and his lips moved down to join it, nibbling her flesh in his mouth. She wanted so bad to moan, to allow the tingle in her breasts and her spine to travel downward, wanted to turn in to meet him with her body, allowing him to have her, to finish this unbearable pleasure.

But he stopped, gasping, still cradling the back of her neck in his sturdy hand. "I better . . . ," he said, panting in between words, his eyes closed, his chin pressed into her hair. "I better bandage you up."

"Yeah," she exhaled. "Good idea."

But it wasn't a good idea—she had merely agreed with him to let him out of feeling guilty if he took advantage of her at her most vulnerable. He would not do it, even if she begged him, and she couldn't hate him for that. In fact, she loved him for that, for keeping her best interest at heart, despite her impulsive desires.

He carefully applied the bandaging, pressing the tape into her skin with his thumb and repeating the process over and over again until he finished his handiwork. Then he said, "Do you have night clothes you want to wear?"

She nodded, and he left her alone to dress. But even the time alone in her bedroom almost set her off, voices of Lewis echoing in her head as she dressed. Every time a truck braked outside, she heard Tucker's whip next to her head. Every time a car door slammed, it was Lewis' gun going off next to her, his head exploding, spilling blood onto her face.

She shook her head vigorously, jarring the memories out of her head. Then she rushed out of her bedroom, slowing her pace when she got close to the living room so Elliot wouldn't notice. He was doing dishes, and he hung up the dish towel, turning to her to say, "You don't want to sleep in your bed?"

"No," she mouthed, and he waved his hand toward the couch.

Without question, he said, "Lay down, I'll get you a blanket."

She curled up on the sofa, shivering away her demons. He laid a blanket over her and then sat down on the floor beside her, caressing her hair, his own eyes closing in exhaustion now. "Why don't you go lie down, El?" she said, suddenly feeling sorry for him, for all the crap she had put him through today.

"Nah," he said, and rested his head on her shoulder, still playing with her hair.

She closed her eyes, keeping her focus on those fingers and the gentle pull on her scalp. When she had this kind of heaven to give her attention to, hell could no longer reach her, and she fell into a solid sleep for the first time in days.


	18. Chapter 18

**_Author's Comments:_** _I don't know, but I think I read the other day that Lucy left the show last season. I don't remember that. If that's the case, I guess this is an AU version. But I guess it's already an AU version, since Tucker didn't really turn into a badass sadistic sex torturer in "Unholiest Alliance."_

Chapter Eighteen

Voices in her head routinely woke Olivia from sleep now, but today they were particularly loud. She got up, rolling out of bed late—she was sure it was almost noon. The voices followed her into the kitchen and buzzed about her head while she poured herself some orange juice and took her meds. Dr. Lindstrom had prescribed her antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds, but it would be several weeks before they were fully effective, and in the meantime they only seemed to make the voices worse.

 _It's comin' baby._

 _Just do what I tell you and I won't hurt the girl._

 _I'm not done with you yet._

"Shut up!" she said out loud.

"Me?" Lucy said tentatively on her way into the kitchen.

"No, sorry, Lucy. I was just . . . talking to myself."

Lucy still came early in the morning to help care for Noah, and stayed to help throughout the day. Ever since Elliot came to stay last week, he was able to help care for Noah in the evening, and the two of them had started to form a bond that melted Olivia's heart. If there was one thing Elliot could do, it was kids.

Now Noah waddled in to Olivia to give her a hug, saying, "Hi, Mommy."

She swept him up in her arms, grateful she could do that now without feeling tortured, now that her back was healing up. He was soft and plush, and she was able to relax with him in her arms. She kissed his soft cheek and set him down on the floor, showing him his stuffed bear blanket, one of his favorite toys.

Olivia shifted her weight on the couch, trying to pay attention to him, but her mind would wander off until her eyes found the window, staring out at a cloud in the sky. Thoughts of an open-air building—with ropes and belts and guns and spilled blood and Lewis' evil Cheshire Cat grin—assaulted her mind. A bird kept landing on the windowsill, and Olivia kept snapping her attention back to it, trying to take her mind off her crawling skin. "Olivia," said Lucy.

Olivia turned her head back to the babysitter, and then looked down at her phone, and it was somehow an hour later than when she had first sat down. "Yeah," she said, shaking the trance out of her system.

"We're out of milk. Do you want me to go?"

Olivia stood to get money for her, and then realized her back was stinging again. She went to get out her pain pills, grateful to have a chance to use them again. Sometimes they took the edge off just enough to help her make it through the day. "Yeah, and you can get—"  
She stopped once she realized there was only one pill left. One pill. Not enough to do anything, but it was all she had. She gulped it down and said, "Nevermind, I'll go."

"You're-you're going to go get the milk?" said Lucy incredulously. "Do you think—"

"It's fine, Lucy. I can go."

She sighed, letting the full implications of her decision sink in. She would have to venture outside—something she hadn't done since the laundromat incident, by mutual agreement of Elliot and Dr. Lindstrom and herself. She didn't want to venture outside these walls any more than they wanted to risk the lives of innocent civilians in the area.

But she was getting cabin fever. And as much as the outdoors scared her right now, she needed some fresh air and distractions from her obsessive thoughts and feelings. Plus, she blushed at the thought of being incapable of purchasing a gallon of milk down the street.

"I'll go, Lucy," she repeated, her mind made up.

She shoved some money in her pocket and picked up her keys off the counter and leaned over to kiss Noah. "I'll be back soon."

Elliot slammed the door to the interrogation room behind him and said to his partner, "I can't get anything out of him, why don't you give it a shot?"

His mind just wasn't on this. He wanted to be with Olivia every second, fearful for her safety every moment she was alone. But she wasn't alone—there was Lucy. And besides, she was an adult, and a fully capable one at that. Even if she didn't believe she could get through these demons with her sanity intact, he had faith in what he had told her—she was stronger than most people. She could pull herself out of any disaster, and use it as a teaching tool for others in its wake.

But even he was starting to have doubts. He had a hard time getting her attention lately. She sometimes froze in a vacant stare, and other times she jumped for no reason. He had walked in on her the other day as she was sitting on her couch watching Noah, her favorite activity lately, and found her talking not to Noah, but to herself. And he couldn't really tell if the conversation was with herself, or some unseen, unwanted guest, but at any rate, it had disturbed him.

Dr. Lindstrom took it all seriously, trying different approaches with her and prescribing her meds. And if anyone in the medical profession could have an effect on her, it was this doctor. But Elliot had little faith in the psychological field at all, and particularly in a difficult case like this. If she was getting better, he might have more hope, but he hadn't seen any improvement yet.

The phone rang, and he answered it immediately when he recognized Lucy calling. "Yeah?" he said, trying to keep anxiety from creeping into his voice.

"Elliot," said Lucy's frantic voice. "Olivia went out hours ago to get milk, and she's not back. I'm worried—"

"I'll be right there," he said, hanging up and thinking about how his worst fear may have possibly just come true.

He rushed to her apartment, spending just enough time there to get all the facts from Lucy and examining Olivia's belongings. She hadn't brought her purse with her—she didn't plan to go far. "Don't worry, I'm going to go find her, Lucy."

"Elliot, I don't want to sound judgmental, but I worry about Noah in this environment. This kind of thing has happened too many times lately."

He couldn't say he blamed her, but he said, "Just don't make any phone calls yet, Lucy. Please. Let me find her."

Dashing down the stairs to the first floor, he followed her likely path to the store. On his way, he saw something on the sidewalk and stopped. A bottle of milk, halfway covered by a paper bag, lay pouring white liquid in shiny pools on the concrete. It was only a few feet outside the store. She must have dropped it.

He turned around, figuring if she was heading this way, she would have kept going the same route. He followed the street for a while, eventually reaching the bar where he had met her for drinks. He went in and scanned the place. No sign of her.

Approaching the barmaid, he said, "Have you seen a woman in here, long, dark hair, tall?"

"You mean Olivia?" said the girl. "I think she's a cop or something. Yeah, she was here. Had about four beers and left. I tried to get her to let me call a cab, but she didn't seem like she heard me."

"When was that?"

"A couple of hours ago."

"Crap," he said, and then turned to leave, shouting behind him, "Thank you!"

Back out on the street, he looked around. Where would she have gone from here? He walked around for a while, but knew that it would be pointless to search the entire city without help. He picked up his phone and called Fin. "Hey, man, I need your help. Olivia's missing, and I need as many people as I can to look for her."

"Why? What the hell's going on, El? I thought Olivia was home resting."

"Word never got around, huh? I guess the guys down at the Seventeenth Precinct really can keep a secret."

"Huh?"

Elliot quickly explained to Fin how Olivia had flipped out last week, and that her mental state was diminished due to hallucinations and agitation from PTSD.

"Wow. Okay, why didn't you tell me?" said Fin. "I'll get Rollins and Carisi to help. Maybe Barba's free, I don't know. Do you want me to put out a Missing Vulnerable Persons Alert?"

"Nah." Elliot paced, hoping Olivia would appear around a corner any minute. "I want to keep this hushed so we can keep it from the press—if it gets out, she might never get her old position back."

"Hadn't thought of that," Fin said. "And Dodds was just getting ready to approach her about coming back."

They both got silent, contemplating the implications any erratic actions she might take would have on her career. "Yeah, let's get going on this," said Elliot. "We need to find her, fast. It's starting to get dark out."


	19. Chapter 19

**_Author's Comments:_** _Wait. It gets worse._

Chapter Nineteen

The trip had started out nerve-rattling yet uneventful, and Olivia had put one foot in front of the other and marched herself down the street to the store. It was only half a block away, but it only took a few steps for the voices to start up in her head. At first she thought maybe someone was talking behind her, but she turned, and nobody was there. She brought her hands up to her ears, trying to shut out the disturbing chatter.

At the store, she was able to get the half-gallon container of milk, and even pull out a ten-dollar bill with her shaking hand, passing it to the cashier with darting eyes. He narrowed his eyes at her, and she tried to avoid eye contact. He placed the change in her trembling hand, bagging her milk for her quickly so she could dart out the door.

Outside, she tucked the milk under her arm so she could cover her ears again, although it didn't help at all. She clenched her eyes shut a little too long, and almost knocked over a young woman, dropping her milk in the process. Instead of getting mad, the girl took one look at her and said, "Do you need help?"

Olivia shook her head and trotted off down the sidewalk, barely registering the fact that the woman had knelt down to help pick up the milk still lying on the pavement. There were footsteps behind her, but the person kept dodging into doorways and alleys, because every time Olivia turned to see who it was, there was nobody. She flinched when she thought someone touched her shoulder.

She couldn't lead them to her apartment. They might find Noah, take him away, do horrible things to her and Lucy in front of him. She had to find a public place to go instead.

She kept walking, jogging at times, sometimes covering her ears, oftentimes glancing behind her, until she reached her favorite local bar. She would be safe in here, as long as she stayed out in the open and didn't go into the bathroom.

Darting into the bar and up to the counter, she glanced down at her quaking hands, wishing her hydrocodone weren't wearing off. But the effects of it were disappearing fast, adrenaline quickly replacing the codeine in her bloodstream. Her gut twisted up into knots, and she had to remember to slow her breathing, or dizziness might overtake her. There was only one thing that could steady her right now.

The barmaid recognized her and brought her a beer. "You're here early," she said, sliding the drink to Olivia and taking her money from her.

"Alex, I'm going to go sit at a booth," Olivia said, trying to keep her voice from quivering. She snatched her beer off the counter.

"Sure thing," said the young barmaid.

After two beers, Olivia didn't feel any better, still ducking every time someone walked by her booth. She molded herself into the corner where the booth met the wall and started on her third. Only after finishing the entire thing did she start to relax, feeling floaty and confident, and she thought one more ought to eliminate all the nightmarish cobwebs of traumatic visions and sounds.

After downing the fourth beer, she noticed her own intoxication and couldn't help but wonder if the sounds around her were real or merely products of her own delusions. But it didn't matter anymore, because she stopped dreading them and began to allow them to co-exist with her. She stood up and wandered out the door, brushing past all the people, whether real or imagined, out in the street to face the masses and deal with the ones who might tear her down.

Staggering down the sidewalks of New York, she didn't really pay attention to the street signs, and soon she was in a neighborhood she didn't quite recognize. It may have been the East Village, but it didn't matter. As long as she kept moving, kept trekking, she could stay ahead of the footsteps, ahead of the voices. Soon the sunlight began to fade behind the skyline, and shadows deepened onto the pavement, forming into ominous shapes that may be nothing, or they may be murderous psychopaths stalking her.

Her palms began to sweat at the thought, and she ducked into an alley to escape the torturous shapes. She could almost feel the whip falling on her back if she didn't move quick enough. A dumpster stuck out into the alleyway, providing the perfect cover for her. She hid behind it, peeking back toward the main street to see who was following her. All she saw was dancing dark figurines passing by the alley, and they could be people or they could be shadows of trees swaying in the wind. Either way, it wasn't safe to go out there.

"Who you hiding from?" a voice said behind her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

She turned to see a dark-skinned woman with frizzy hair, a dirt-smeared face and tattered clothes sitting against the wall behind her. But was this woman real, or was she just another image Olivia's mind had conjured up? She decided to answer the woman. "N-nobody. I don't know."

"You look worked up. Need to relax? I can share some smack with you if you got money."

"Um, no thank you," said Olivia, squatting down next to the dumpster. The woman moved to sit next to her, and tried to touch her hair, making Olivia think she must not be real, after all. All the same, she swatted the woman's hand away. It felt real enough.

Olivia peered out past the edge of the dumpster again, trying to decide if she should move on, maybe try to make it home. She could almost feel the woman breathing down her neck, but thought with her own heightened senses, the closeness must be distorted. But now she felt a prick in the crook of her arm, and she said, "Ow!" and tried to pull it away, but the woman had a death grip on her hand. Olivia watched as filthy fingers emptied the contents of a needle into her arm, struggling to free herself, but it was too late.

"Now you owe me," said the frazzled female face before her, and before she knew what hit her, Olivia was floating in space, and nobody could touch her, nothing could reach her, because she was out of her body. She became vaguely aware of a hand digging through her pocket, but she didn't care. She stared up at the stars winking at her through the clouds, inviting her to come play, and she thought she just might join them.


	20. Chapter 20

**_Author's Comments:_** _You can learn a lot from watching "Breaking Bad."_

Chapter Twenty

Fin, Rollins, and Carisi joined Elliot, and the little band of searchers decided to fan out from the bar, which was the last place they had seen her. Elliot went south toward the village, hitting every main street and winding his way back and forth to major avenues. He went into bars, peeked into delis and down alleys, talked to complete strangers to ask if they'd seen her. He carried a recent picture of her on his phone, showing it to everyone who would listen, but nobody he ran across had seen her.

He made it all the way down to the East Village by nightfall, thinking it was hopeless to keep searching, but refusing to give up. This was her city—where else would she go? Normally she could take care of herself, but with delusions and hallucinations, and now alcohol on top of it all, no telling where she had wound up. And what if—God forbid—they never found her again? Or what if she got violent with a stranger and got picked up by the police? But he couldn't think that way. If he was going to stay sane and focused, he needed to concentrate on searching for her in the most effective manner.

He turned down a street with mostly residential buildings, and had just about decided to call in to the others to see how they were progressing. But he passed an alley, and he peered down it, seeing nothing at first. A can rattled down in its dark recesses, though, and he decided to venture down it. He came to a dumpster and turned on his flashlight, and the first thing he saw was a vagrant camped out, presumably homeless, her back resting against the brick wall. And then he saw a foot, the body of the owner of it hidden behind the dumpster.

He studied that foot in the dim light of the flashlight, cocking his head, noticing that the boot on it wasn't falling apart or even heavily worn. It was a stylish black boot, with a little bit of heel, polished and shiny like it had been taken care of.

He advanced to the dumpster, getting a bigger picture of the wearer of the boot as he moved toward it. Black pants, a dark t-shirt with a v-cut neck, and his heart raced as he shone the flashlight higher until the beam landed on her face.

It was her. It was Olivia, lying in a crumpled heap on her side, strands of her long dark hair falling over her face, but he could still recognize her. He breathed quicker now, relieved that he had found her but still shocked at the position she was in, and he had to erase any thoughts of her mortality from his mind until he could get a closer look.

In a flash, he was at her side, and he placed a hand to her ashen cheek and said, "Olivia."

She didn't answer, and she was cold, and now his pulse raced so strong that he could barely hear anything else over his own heartbeat and the sounds of blood rushing through his head. "Olivia," he said, grasping her by the cheeks and shaking her head gently yet vigorously.

He reached under her neck to check her pulse, but she moved then, and he exhaled a day's worth of air at the fact that she was still alive. "Liv," he said, louder this time, hoping he could get more of a response.

To his surprise, she opened her eyes a tiny bit, enough to squint at him and say, "Elliot."

But that's all she said, and her lack of responsiveness worried him. If she was just drunk, she would have been more wordy, more animated, even if she had had several drinks. Maybe she had combined alcohol with something else, and he thought of the painkillers she had been prescribed, but he didn't even think those could have this strong of an effect on her.

"Olivia, can you sit up for me? I need you to get up."

He shook her some more, by the shoulders this time, and the homeless woman next them said, "Leave her alone. She's smacked."

Elliot looked up at the woman now. "What do you mean?" he said, comprehending the words more with every second now. "Did you—did you give her something?"

The woman didn't speak, and he shone a flashlight on Olivia's arm, which showed a red spot in the crook of her elbow. "Did you give her heroin?" he said incredulously.

The woman stared at him, and now he flashed his badge and adjusted his tone to show her he meant business. "You better tell me, or you'll be locked up in rehab for the next two months."

Her tone got softer. "I'm—I'm sorry. Yeah, I gave it to her."

Elliot thought he already knew the answer to the next question but he had to ask anyway. "Did she ask you for it?"

The woman put up her hands. "No. But I swear, she needed it real bad, I could tell, I—"

Elliot's glare must have terrified her into action, because now she stumbled to her feet and took off down the alley. Elliot would have to leave Olivia alone to chase her down, and he wasn't willing to do that, so he let the woman go.

He turned his attention back to Olivia, shaking her again. "C'mon, Liv, wake up. You need to get up."

She moaned, but moved limply like she was trying to sit up but just couldn't manage to get her muscles to work right. Elliot realized he was going to have to do the majority of the work, and he hoisted her first into a sitting position. Her head flopped, but then she recovered and sat, leaning heavily on him. "Elliot, so tired," she slurred.

"I know, I know. But you need to try and get up for me, okay? Here we go—one, two, three."

On three, he pulled with all his might, getting her up to a wobbly standing position, and she let out a high-pitched groan, leaning her back against the wall. He put his arm around her back and pulled her into him, propping her up, and her head wobbled along with her legs, but she somehow stayed up.

Elliot almost wondered if it would be easier to carry her, honeymoon style, but with her weight almost dead, and with dozens of city blocks to go, he didn't see that happening. "C'mon, Liv, take a step," he prodded, and after what seemed like an eternity, she lifted a foot and stuck it out in front of her.

He moved with her, bracing her with every impossible step, one after the other. By the time they reached the end of the alley, he was already exhausted. He reached in his pocket for his phone and called Fin, saying, "I got her, but I need help. We're on Tenth Street close to Thompkins Square. She's not going to make it home on her own."

"I'll get the car and bring it down," said Fin.

Elliot sat Olivia down on the stoop of an apartment complex, sitting next to her to hold her up. She flopped against him, her breath deepening as she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Liv, don't fall asleep," he pleaded.

She mumbled something, but he couldn't make out the words. He pushed her head off his shoulder—not because he didn't want it there, but because he wanted her to stay awake. "Liv, stay with me," he said.

Her eyes opened, but then slowly began to slide shut again. He decided he wasn't going to be able to keep her awake unless he talked to her, so he said, "Liv."

"Huh?" Her long nails scratched at her arm.

"Stay awake. You gotta stay with me. You can do this. You have to."

"I have to," she said, shaking her head to keep from slumping into sleep again.

"Yeah. But I know you can do it. You can, because you're strong. Remember when I said you were strong a few weeks ago?"

"No," she said, her eyes barely-opened slits.

"Well, I did, and I meant it." He gave her shoulders a shake. "Plus, you have to stay with me because . . . well, because I need you to."

"Why?" she said, her head slumping again, just before she brought her chin back up.

"I need you, Liv. I didn't realize it—not until now." He leaned in to say the words right into her ear, and she used the move to her advantage, leaning her head against his shoulder again. "I didn't realize it all those years. I tried to put you out of my mind, tried to forget about you."

"I love you too, El," she mumbled, scratching her nose. It wasn't what he had expected to hear from her, and she probably didn't mean it in her condition, but still, he would take it.

He pushed her head up again, and she whimpered from the effort it took her to sit up. "Stay with me, Liv. I couldn't forget about you all those years because . . . you're unforgettable. I never realized how much you light up my life, and the lives of everyone around you. So stay with me, Liv, because I need you, and the world needs you."

"I can't . . ." she whined, trying to slump against him again.

"Yes, you can," he whispered to her. "Because without you, the world loses and angel."

"I think I see them," she murmured.

"See who?"

"The angels."

Just as she gave up on staying awake and wilted onto his body, Fin's car pulled up to the curb.


	21. Chapter 21

**_Author's Comments:_** _I love all your comments. You guys crack me up—thanks for keeping me going._

Chapter Twenty-One

Fin's car pulled up and Amanda shot out first, making a beeline for Olivia, with Carisi close behind. "Oh, God," Amanda said, grabbing Olivia's cheeks in her hands to get a good visual of her face. "What's wrong with her? This is more than just beer."

"Heroin. Not by choice, though," said Elliot, his arm still around her, trying to hold her into a sitting position but quickly growing weary from supporting her. "Help me get her up."

"Why?" said Carisi. "Shouldn't we be calling for a bus?"

"Yeah," said Fin, "She needs medical attention."

"Not necessarily," said Elliot. "She's high, obviously, but as long as she doesn't overdose . . . do we really want her to get arrested, put her career at risk, and cause her to lose her son? She needs care, not punishment."

"What-?" said Carisi, lowering his eyebrows like he wanted to punch Elliot in the face. "This is her life we're talking about, and how would we even know if she took enough to OD?"

Amanda was still kneeling next to Olivia, looking into her eyes with a flashlight, and she said, "I agree with Elliot."

"C'mon, Amanda," said Fin.

"No, hold up, guys," said Amanda, standing now. "I've been around my junkie sister my whole life, taken care of her many times over the years. I know what to look for, and I think she's okay for now. We just need to keep an eye on her, keep her up until she comes down."

Fin shook his head, but Elliot ignored him and said, "Help me get her up." And then he said into her ear, "C'mon, Liv, stand up for me."

But she wasn't moving, the corners of her mouth turned up in a blissful smile, her eyes just slits. Fin got on the other side of her and wrapped his arm around her back, and the two of them lifted her dead weight with a slight groan from each of them. The movement motivated her to speak, mumbling, "It's alright guys. I appreciate you coming out, but you can just leave me here. I just want to lay down."

"No way, Liv. That's not happening," said Elliot.

She was sweating buckets as Elliot half-pulled her into the backseat of the car with Fin lifting her from the curb side. Amanda dug a plastic bag out of the front of the car and handed it to Elliot, saying, "Here, just in case."

Elliot stared at her, but she said, "What? It's her first time—you don't want her getting it all over the back of Fin's car, do you?"

Then she slid in next to Olivia on the other side, watching Liv's face intently, lines forming in her forehead. "She's not real alert," said Amanda to nobody in particular, while Fin and Carisi climbed in the front of the car. "But her color is okay. Pupils are dilated but that's to be expected." She put two fingers on Olivia's wrist, and then leaned in with an ear to Liv's mouth. "Pulse and breathing are slow but not too bad. As long as she can talk, I'm not too worried."

"You really have done this before," said Elliot.

"Yeah, well what can I say. When you have a sister as messed up as mine . . ."

"Stop . . ." said Olivia, not bothering to open her eyes or lift her head off the back of the seat, where it rested against Elliot's arm. "Stop talking, you're ruining it."

Elliot thought about what she meant, his musings interrupted by Amanda, who said, "That's why we're here, Liv—to ruin your high. Better get used to it." Olivia's lips puckered in obvious discontent, but Amanda didn't show any mercy, saying, "You're going to hate me by the end of the night. We can't let her sleep, El. That's when bad things happen."

Olivia didn't respond, and didn't say anything else on the way home, just flopped her head on Elliot, and he wrapped his arm around her and gave her shoulder a squeeze. Fin parked outside her apartment and Elliot helped Fin slide her out of the car. He had already contacted Lucy, who was long gone with Noah. Elliot didn't see any reason for the boy to be exposed to his mother in this state.

By the time they got her into her apartment, Elliot on one side of her and Carisi on the other while Fin parked the car, Olivia was whimpering, and Amanda said, "She must be starting to come down. That's the hardest part."

When they got in the door, she wanted to veer toward the nearest chair, and Elliot started to take her to the couch. But Amanda said, "Let's walk her around, to keep her awake."

"Nooo," Olivia moaned, opening her eyes just enough to glare at Amanda.

Elliot felt for her but followed Amanda's directions, guiding Olivia away from the couch, her arm draped over his shoulder and her body trying to go slack. "C'mon, Liv," he said, keeping a gentle tone to contrast Amanda's. "Walk with us for a little bit. Take a step."

She begrudgingly moved one floppy foot forward, a high-pitched groan escaping her throat. He held her up the best he could, and Carisi joined them on her other side. Together, they kept her up and half-walked, half-dragged her around the apartment for about fifteen minutes, before she said, "I can't . . ."

"Okay, we'll take a break," said Elliot, and they took her to the couch. She flopped on it like a rag doll, but Elliot pushed her up to sitting and whispered, "Don't go to sleep, Liv."

Meanwhile, Amanda brought her some water, helping Liv hold it to her mouth while she dribbled some on her shirt. Fin came up after parking the car, and the four of them took turns walking Olivia around the apartment for the next couple of hours, giving her breaks when she couldn't stand on her feet one more second.

Elliot took another turn with her, hoisting her to standing, but she resisted, shaking her head and going limp. "Come on, Liv," he said, watching her half-open mouth turn into a thin line.

"No, El. Leave me alone." Her droopy eyes hardened, and she slumped back down on the couch. "Too tired."

Amanda squatted in front of her, trying to add some sympathy to her voice. "Liv, just walk a little longer with us. C'mon, don't give up now."

She tugged on Olivia's arm, and Liv found a sudden burst of energy to push Amanda backwards, knocking her off balance, almost to the floor. "Leave me ALONE Amanda!" Olivia growled, lifting her chin to show her gritted teeth at Amanda. "Why are you here? Get out of my apartment, all of you."

She scanned the faces in the room with venom in her eyes. Elliot felt no anger in return—only pity, because he knew she didn't want to be this rabid version of herself.

"Yeah, you're definitely coming down now," said Amanda calmly, standing up now. She looked at Elliot. "She'll be okay now. We just need to keep her awake a little longer, and then she can go to sleep. She needs someone to stay with her. I can do it if—"

"I'll stay," said Elliot, and Amanda cast him a curious glance. Elliot looked at Carisi, who also studied him, wrinkles forming in his forehead.

Amanda glanced at Fin, and then back at Elliot, and said, "It's okay, really. I can stay—"

"Hey," said Fin, stepping toward Amanda to rest a hand on her shoulder, glancing at Elliot knowingly. "I think Elliot's got this."

Amanda shrugged. "Okay, then." She stayed for about another half-hour with Carisi and Fin to keep an eye on Olivia, and then she visited with the limp brunette sprawled out on the couch one last time, squatting next to her to rub her arm. "You'll be okay, Liv."

She looked up at Elliot and said, "Keep her on her side so she doesn't choke. That's important. She's not going to be feeling real good so you'll probably need to keep a trash can next to her. Call me if her heartrate or breathing slows. Liv," she said, looking at Olivia's stone-cold face.

"Mmmm," said Olivia.

"I'm sorry you're . . ." And then Amanda choked up and had to stop, looking as if she might shed a tear. She stroked Olivia's arm one more time and said, "Just get better, okay?"

Olivia didn't answer, and Amanda stood to face Elliot, whispering so Olivia couldn't hear her, "I hate seeing her like this."

"That goes double for me," said Carisi. "Take good care of her, Stabler."

"I will," said Elliot, looking at Fin who was intently watching Olivia resting. "I promise I'll make sure she's okay."


	22. Chapter 22

**_Author's Comments:_** _I love this chapter. Not sure why, maybe it's because I know shit's about to get real. And I like the last line. Ah ah ah …no reading ahead!_

Chapter Twenty-Two

Olivia looked like she was praying to a toilet god, kneeling over the porcelain bowl like an altar, her hands clasped over her lowered head as she heaved into the water. Elliot held her hair back to keep it from falling into her face. When she finished, she stayed frozen in place for a moment and said, "If I'm ever tempted to do heroin again, remind me of this moment."

He helped her stand and handed her a wet washcloth for her face. Even with her face ashen, misery in her sunken eyes, and tussled hair, she was beautiful, like an angel fallen out of heaven. She rubbed her face with the washcloth and threw it in the sink, averting her eyes from him and from the mirror, and he put his arm around her and helped her out, although she didn't really need his support anymore.

She was coherent now, and he had never felt such a weight off his shoulders as he had when she started talking to him, _really_ talking to him like she understood. For an hour or so after the others had left, she had laid on the couch on her side, like Amanda had commanded, her head against his leg like a pillow, and he had stroked her hair and watched her chest rise and fall in a shallow, unsteady rhythm.

It wasn't until she had started vomiting that she found sudden strength to propel herself to the bathroom, and she had been back and forth ever since. That must have brought down the high, because she could now talk to him and have a conversation, and not just some garbled mush of unrelated words.

Now he walked with her to the couch, and then went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. When he handed it to her, he sat down next to her while she took delicate sips, and then she set the glass down and draped herself against him. "Oh God, I feel like shit, El."

He wrapped a protective arm around her and pulled her body into him even more, and she rested her arm across his chest and her head against his neck. "I'm sorry, Liv," he said softly. "Do you remember what happened yesterday?"

"Not really," she croaked, her voice hoarse. "When I start hearing voices and imagining things, it's like I blank out. I remember bits and pieces, like running from someone I thought was behind me. And hiding out behind a dumpster—I remember that."

"And the woman who shot you up?"

"Vaguely." She sat up and pulled away from Elliot, shaking her head. "I'm never going to be back to my old self, am I?"

He rubbed her back. "Of course you will, Liv. This is temporary—remember that. You made it through PTSD before—"

"This is different," she said, shaking her head again. "It's like I'm out of touch with reality."

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her face on her hands, silently ruminating. And then she turned her head toward him, and all he saw in her eyes was deep pockets of dread. "I'm scared, El. For myself, for Noah—"

"Shhh . . ." he said, massaging her neck. "You'll get through it, Liv. Don't give up. I'm going to be here for you—I'm taking time off work so you don't have to be left alone."

"No, Elliot, you don't have to—"

"No," he said emphatically. "It's already done. I already called and got the time off."

Her eyes met his again, and a weak smile formed on her lips. "Thank you, Elliot," she whispered, a tear escaping from the corner of her eye.

And then she leaned into him again and embraced him with a shaky hug, and he let his face become buried in her hair. "It's no problem, Liv."

She remembered more than what she had told him, but what she recalled was mainly in her head. There had been intense panicky moments when she was sure someone was after her, and terrified times ducking in and out of alleys escaping someone who she was sure would do horrible things to her. She remembered the exact moment the junkie had stuck the needle in her arm, because from that moment on, she had been in an untouchable, relaxed state where no evil could reach her. For the first time since Tucker attacked her, she felt at ease.

If she could have just stayed there forever, she would have been content. She now understood how people could allow themselves to fall into such a horrible, life-altering addiction.

The only problem was coming back to reality.

Her friends, God bless them, had not let her sleep, and she hardly even rested, her high interrupted by their constant chatter about real life problems, like OD'ing and paramedics and heartrates. She couldn't be bothered with such trivial matters, when she was floating on clouds.

Coming down was harsh. Her body ached, and she threw up God-knows-how-many times, and she was irritable as fuck. She hated them for making her stay awake, and then when they finally let her go to sleep, her nerves rattled so much that she couldn't.

When her co-workers left, Elliot was so sweet, and she didn't want the warm fuzzy feelings between them to end. But it had been a few hours now, and all she could do was pace, the restlessness and paranoia returning larger than ever now that the heroin was completely out of her system. And now the sun was up again, so sleep would never come for her.

"You okay?" Elliot said, watching her pace back and forth like a damn hamster.

"Yeah," she said, rubbing her arms like she was cold, but she was actually sweating profusely. Her eyes darted here and there, looking out for dark dangers lurking in shadowy corners, but she knew the real monster was growing inside her. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," he said, staring at her back-and-forth wandering like he was watching a tennis game. "Why don't you come sit down?"

"Nah," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe I'll go take a shower."

"That's a good idea," he said. "I'll go get it started for you."

But she didn't really want a shower. What she really wanted was to rid herself of the blackness blanketing itself over her right now. Voices intruded into her mind, whispering into her ears, and she hugged herself tight and tried to squeeze them out. But there was only one way she knew of to escape the torture in her head, and it was not a good option, not at all.

But the more she allowed the sliver of a thought to inch its way in, the more it seemed like not only the best choice, but the only viable one at all.

Then she shook her head and resumed her pacing. She couldn't do that to Elliot again. And she certainly couldn't do it to her child, or herself, for that matter. To become a heroin addict was the worst fate a person could possibly seal for themselves—she had seen it time and time again. She would not allow herself to fall down that demon-riddled hole.

" _It's comin', baby._ "

"Shut up!" she said, a little too loud.

Elliot peeked his head out at her and said, "What?"

"N-nothing."

Dangerous fiends hissed in her ear, and she whirled when someone touched her on the shoulder. Her skin prickled at the light dancing with dark in the corners of her apartment. She rubbed her arms, then scratched at her flesh, not wanting to feel it crawling. Heroin, or countless more hours of this. Those were the choices facing her—instantaneous relief, followed by apologies and consequences at some later time, or more nausea and constricting, closing-in walls with no end in sight.

She headed to the door, grabbing her keys and fishing some cash out of her wallet on the way. Her hand on the door froze when Elliot said, "Where are you going?"

He was standing in the room with her, and she hadn't even seen him come in. That alone was enough to make her jump out of her skin. "Out," she said, turning the handle.

He was at the door now, holding it closed with one hand, his presence so close to her she could feel his breath on her hair. He gently laid a hand on hers, the one clutching the door knob with white knuckles. "No, you're not. Step away from the door, Liv."


	23. Chapter 23

**_Author's Comments:_** _So to answer one of your questions—no, it's not written from personal experience. But thank you—I take that as a compliment. Although—there was that one time when my hydrocodone ran out, and . . . nevermind, lol._

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Get your hand off me, Elliot," Olivia said, glaring at him, her head lowered like a bull ready to charge.

"Okay," he said, pulling away his hand that gripped hers on top of the door handle, but he slid his entire body between her and the door just in case. "But you need to back away."

She didn't budge. "Elliot, get out of my way."

"Tell me where it is exactly that you think you're going," he said, his chest heaving, their faces so close that he could almost hear her blood boiling. He had no intention of moving, of course. There was no way he was letting her out of this apartment. What he couldn't figure out was why she wanted to leave so bad. Was she delusional? She just finished coming down from the worst high ever, and now she wanted to wander out on her own again? What could she possibly want _that_ bad?

He could only think of one thing. But she wasn't getting it.

Her eyes narrowed into slits, the corners of her mouth lowering into a scowl. "Elliot, you can't keep me here against my will. That's kidnapping."

"Oh, yeah?" he said. "Just try calling the cops and see what happens."

Hot tendrils of breath poured from her nostrils, nearly visible. She turned the knob and pulled with all her might, but it didn't budge with the entirety of his weight pressed against it. "Get out of my way," she said, louder this time.

"Move back, Liv," he said, and this time he put his hands on her shoulders to show her he meant it.

But as soon as he touched her, a rage came into her eyes like that of a rabid dog, and she let go of the door and brought her knee up to his groin, following it quickly with an elbow to his face as he bent over in pain. He almost fell over, but caught himself just in time, reminding himself of what was at stake if she got out this door. While still leaning over, he shoved her back at her waist, knocking her to the ground, and he felt bad about it while he did it, but it got him what he wanted—her safety.

But now she was furious, and she jumped back up to her feet quickly, screaming, "Don't you ever fucking touch me!" Then she decked him in the face before he could get his hands in place to block her, but that was all she got—one good punch, and then he was able to block and slip to the left when she tried to come at him with another good jab.

He used her missed shot to take the opportunity to get low and tackle her to the ground again. He wanted to stop her, but not to hurt her, and every move he made had to be carefully calculated to do the least amount of damage. But there was a ferocity in her eyes he had never seen before, and it scared him—not because he was afraid of what she would do to him, but because he was afraid of what she might do if she escaped this place. And it was not going to be easy, keeping her here.

He had pushed her down and was on his feet, but she jumped right back up again, glancing at the door before plowing toward him from the side to get around him. He grabbed her, using her momentum to spin her around so that her back was to him, and he wrapped her arms in front of her and held them crossed in front of her in a restraint. She let out a furious scream, and now she turned into a feral child, kicking her legs in the air and wrestling against his grip like her life depended on it.

She brought one foot down hard, slamming it onto his, and he loosened his grasp enough that she was able to break free and dash toward the door. He caught her just before her hand reached the doorknob and yanked on her arm, pulling her out if its reach. Without turning to face him, she elbowed him in the nose with her free arm, and he cried out, "Shit!"

His left hand instinctively flew up to his injured nose and drew back with blood on it, but he still had a strong grasp on her arm with his right hand, and he somehow managed to hold onto her even with her pulling away with all her strength. "Just stop, Liv!" he said, trying to get his arms around her again, but the fire in her eyes told him she wasn't done yet. "Just stop and talk to me."

She gritted her teeth and tried to get a punch in, aimed at his gut, but with the grip he had on her, she couldn't get much power into it. "Dammit, Elliot, let me go!" she yelled.

"No way, Liv," he said, coming in close to her so he could bind her with his arms. But he came in too close too fast, and the move knocked her off-balance and she started to fall. He tried to catch her with his arms still encircling her, and they both fell to the ground, his body on top of her now. "You need to calm down," he said, looking her directly in the eyes.

But now he could see that he wasn't dealing with Rational Olivia. Instead, this was some crazed, vicious version of Oliva that was working only through the reptilian portion of her brain. And he must have awakened some terrified part of her, because he saw fear permeating through those eyes, like she saw him not as her ex-partner and friend but merely another brutal assailant trying to harm her.

His arms still had her entrapped, his chest pinning her body to the ground, and she wriggled and bucked, panting and grunting while her hair flew everywhere. "Leave me alone! Get OFF me," she half-pleaded, half-demanded.

He tried to maintain his calm while she writhed underneath him, saying, "Calm down, Liv, and I will. But I need you to—"

"Please. Let me go—I won't tell anyone, I promise." Her tone had changed to a pitiful whine, and he knew she wasn't really talking to him anymore, but the image of some malicious attacker who had replaced him.

"It's okay, Liv. I'm not going to hurt you. I'll let you up but I need you to calm down and talk to me."

She squeezed her lips together hard, and then said in a low, throaty voice, "You're trying to trick me. You're never going to let me go, are you?"

He didn't know what to say to get her to snap out of it, but he said, "Maybe that's the problem—I let you go for too long. I should have never left you, and I'm sorry for that, Liv."

Her eyebrows lowered in confusion, like she couldn't comprehend what he was saying to her. But she had stopped struggling now, and something changed in her eyes, but the anger was still there. "Why _did_ you leave me, Elliot?" Her eyes started to tear up, and now big wet drops began to roll down her cheeks and onto the carpet. "You fucking bastard—how could you just leave and never even call?"

He loosened his grip now, not letting her go entirely, but taking his weight off her enough to relieve some of the pressure on her chest so that she could cry freely without suffocating. "I know," he said quietly. "I'm an asshole. Let it all out, Liv. You deserve that much, and so much more."

Her tears turned to sobs, and she had trouble getting the words out without slurring through panting lungs when she said, "Do you even know what I went through without you?" He wanted to look away, barely able to watch her tormented face, but he forced himself to lock eyes with her as self-imposed punishment. "Lewis had me for _four days_ , he tortured me, beat me, burned me with hot keys, drugged me, made me watch while he raped and killed other people, and where were you?"

She let out three more robust sobs and said, "I went to trial having to face him—all without your support. And then, he came after me _again_ , using a young girl as bait." He sat up now and removed his arms from her, shaking his head with guilt. He had known some of what happened to her, but he had never heard all the details. He listened now with horrified shame, watching her doleful eyes as she shouted at him. "He almost raped me, but instead he made me play Russian Roulette. I almost shot myself, Elliot—I almost died! And now I have the image of his head blown off burned into my brain, for all eternity. And this whole time, you couldn't even check in on me once?"

She couldn't speak anymore because the sobs grew so intense that her lungs were consumed with the task of trying to keep up. Her gasping cries stunned Elliot speechless, and for a few seconds, he sat there, still on top of her, wondering how he could have let her go through all that alone.

But soon, he came back to his senses and scurried off her, gently helping her sit up with trembling arms. He scooted in close to her on the carpet and whispered, "Come here," with open arms, giving her the choice to reject them.

He sighed with relief when she took him up on his offer, wrapping her arms around him and sinking into him so she could wet his shoulder with her tearful face. He hugged her and kissed her head, knowing it wasn't enough to make up for his absence during her worst crises ever, but trying to atone nonetheless.

"I can't tell you enough how sorry I am, Liv," he implored. "All I can do is try to make up for it now."

She shuddered against him, accepting his comfort for now, and that was enough for Elliot at this moment. She may change her mind later and throw him out for good, but at this point, all he could do was be as soothing and reassuring as a saint, and hope it was enough to lift her out of the pit of anguish she had fallen into.


	24. Chapter 24

**_Author's Comments:_** _Mr. Noodle to the rescue. Was anyone else as shocked as I was to find out he was the same guy as Elmo's comic relief?_

Chapter Twenty-Four

Olivia curled up against Elliot on the floor, shivering hard into his rugged body. They were near the couch, and he slid back against it, pulling her with him, and he reached up to grab a blanket and drape it over her. Her new reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door, causing her to startle. But then she said, "Oh, crap, what time is it?"

Elliot dug his phone out of his pocket. "10:30," he said.

"Ahh . . ." She got to her feet. "Dr. Lindstrom. He's here for our appointment."

He had been coming to visit her daily, growing increasingly concerned with her well-being, and it seemed like it had only been a few hours since the last time he was here. So much had happened. She didn't know if she could face the doctor today, with everything she had done. But she couldn't lie to him, either, and she really did need his help right now.

She went to the door, and when she saw his face in the doorway, his eyes reflected back sad, downturned eyes, and she realized what a mess she must be—puffy eyes and red cheeks and unkempt hair and clothes. She hadn't even taken a shower after her escapade on the streets of New York.

"Come in," she said quietly, dejected and resigned to his judgement.

"What's wrong, Liv?" he said gently, standing still in the doorway for a moment before passing her to enter the living room. His eyes swept over the scene in the living room, and now she realized that chairs had been pushed aside and the blanket still lay on the floor at Elliot's feet, and she knew it was going to be a long session.

"Sit down," she said, pointing to the chair adjacent to the couch. He obeyed, as did Elliot, who took a spot on the couch, but she remained standing, clasping her hands to her forehead. "I don't even know where to start," she said.

But all eyes were on her, and she wasn't going to get out of the being the center of the Olivia Benson Show, no matter how anxious she felt. Dr. Lindstrom waved his hand toward the couch. "Why don't you start by having a seat next to Elliot," he said patiently.

She flopped down next to Elliot, their legs touching, and she leaned forward, trapping her hands between her knees. "I went out yesterday . . ." she started, pausing to allow for the sigh she figured was inevitable out of Dr. Lindstrom's mouth after admitting to defying his wishes. But he remained silent. "And I never came back."

She couldn't look at the doctor's face, for fear of the shame she might feel if she saw his eyes. "I wandered all over New York, running from some imaginary stalker, hearing things, imagining things, drinking in a bar to numb the feelings." She shook her head, squinting in confusion at her own actions. "And then I let someone inject me with heroin."

Elliot rubbed her shoulder as she waited for a gasp from Dr. Lindstrom that never came. "It wasn't her fault—she wasn't trying to—" started Elliot.

"Doesn't matter," she said, prickling at Elliot's touch now, because she knew she didn't deserve the sympathy. "The point is, I enjoyed it because it allowed me complete escape from the horrible feelings, and I tried to get out to get more today. I actually fought with Elliot to get out—I was willing to hurt him to escape from reality."

Elliot's hand found the back of her neck and massaged it. She leaned back and, without looking at him, whispered, "I'm sorry, Elliot. I'm so sorry for everything I've put you through." She wished she wasn't sweating so bad, rings of it forming around her hairline. "I feel like I've let everyone down—like I'm failing as a parent to Noah, and I can't even hold it together enough to function, let alone go back to my old job."

She paused, and Dr. Lindstrom finally spoke, his soft voice cushioning her rattled nerves. "Sounds like you had a rough night."

"You could say that, yeah," she rasped.

"How did you get home?" he said, wrinkles forming over his eyes.

Elliot spoke before she could. "We searched for hours, me and her squad, and found her passed out in an alley."

Now he gasped, and she sunk her head in shame. "Well, I'm so glad you're okay, Olivia. And Elliot, if anything like this happens again, feel free to call me. Anytime—I'd be glad to help out."

"I didn't think of that," said Elliot.

"I'm really worried about you, Olivia," said Dr. Lindstrom, and Olivia thought now was the time for him to reign down his verdict of insane and guilty all at the same time. Would he have her committed? "But I could hardly brand you a 'failure' and a 'disappointment', to use your words. You're the victim of several horrible traumas all within a couple of short years. Never forget how much that can affect a person's psyche."

She nodded slightly. "But, it was my choice to go outside, even though I promised both of you I wouldn't. And I chose to try and go _back_ out again today, to do something blatantly illegal. I'm a cop, for Christ's sake."

Dr. Lindstrom shook his head. "Look, Olivia. Think about what you would say to another victim who went through what you've just been through. Someone who has stripes on their back from being brutally whipped by their own boyfriend."

The thought hadn't occurred to her over this past day, and now she cried silently, remembering how she hung from Tucker's ceiling waiting for the next crack of the whip. The doctor continued, saying, "Wouldn't you expect someone who had gone through a Lewis and a Tucker to have a breakdown? Wouldn't you feel empathy for them, and understand why they might suffer from psychosis, and even do things that seem crazy at times?"

She nodded, sniffling. The words were like cool water on her burning emotions.

"Give yourself a pat on the back, Olivia. You survived." He gave her a moment to absorb the message and wipe the tears from her face, and then he said, "But now we need to address the underlying issues here, and figure out where things went wrong, so we can keep you safe."

"I don't know how to stop the voices," she said, staring down at her hands. "That's what makes my skin crawl—what drove me to go out in the first place, when my pain pills ran out."

"Wait," said Dr. Lindstrom, putting one hand up. "Your pain pills ran out."

She nodded, thinking she almost saw a smile make its way to the doctor's lips. "Of course," he said. "That makes sense. You ran out of pain pills, and those were helping you deal with not only the physical pain, but the emotional pain as well."

"Well, yeah," she said, as if it should be obvious to everyone.

"You may have been going through some withdrawal when you wandered the city—that may partially explain why you were so on edge, and also why you felt the need to drink. It could definitely contribute to you wanting to get your hands on heroin so bad today. I've known people who were addicted after the first time they tried it."

"Me too," she said softly. She sat silently, contemplating how the drugs may have made everything so intensely worse.

"How many pills were you taking at a time?" he said.

"I started to build up a tolerance. So sometimes three or four."

Dr. Lindstrom nodded. "I should have been monitoring your opiate usage. It didn't even occur to me."

She didn't blame him one bit, but the fact that he had taken a small portion of the guilt and placed it on himself was more of a relief than she could have ever imagined.

"And if you have built up a dependence on the pain pills, you'll be going through withdrawal that's even worse over the next few days." Her hands fidgeted at the thought. Even worse? How could she possibly cope with that? "But I've got an idea to help you through. I'm going to prescribe you a low dose of suboxone—"

"Wait, what? Isn't that for heroin addicts?" said Elliot.

"Opiate addicts," Dr. Lindstrom corrected. "And yes, it's an opiate substitute, but it also reduces the effects of the opiates on the system. So it's a good tool to use for withdrawal. We should be able to wean you off after a couple of weeks, and we'll do some intensive therapy in the meantime. Plus, the antidepressants should kick in soon, and that may help with the psychosis."

Her muscles loosened as the doctor spoke, and she was finally able to relax into the couch, noticing how warm Elliot's hand felt as it swept hers into it. "I want to try something with you, Olivia. Can you close your eyes for me?" She nodded and shut them, and immediately felt claustrophobic from the whispering voices and sounds of whips cracking in the background. "Do you hear anything right now?" he said.

She clenched her lips together and said, "Yeah. It's bad. People talking to me, but I can't hear what they're saying."

Elliot squeezed her hand. Dr. Lindstrom said, "Okay, instead of trying to make them go away, I want you to focus on them, notice them as if you are an observer, try to sit through them until they pass, if they do. And then tell me how you feel in your body."

She listened to the sounds like she was hearing songs on the radio, and they continued on unabated. "I'm tense," she said. "I want to crawl out of my skin."

"Where do you feel tension?"

"My chest is tight. My hands are sweaty. My arms twitching."

"Sit with those feelings for a while. Really go into them. Don't judge them, or the voices, just notice."

She did as he said. "It's—it's starting to pass, a little."

"Mmhm," he said. "That's an exercise I want you to practice as much as you can." She opened her eyes, and his were calm and relaxed, and she saw compassion and peace within them. "And as for going outside, we can start to do that when you're ready. But let's use it as a form of exposure therapy, meaning you only go out with me or Elliot at first. Short walks, to get you used to the idea that the world isn't out to get you. And then it's just going to take time, surrounding yourself with trustworthy people, to feel faith in human kindness again. Okay?"

"Yeah," she said quietly. She paused, trying not to stare at him, but feeling so overwhelmed by his patience with her. "Thank you, Doctor. So much."

He smiled a gentle smile. "It's what I'm here for," he said. "Now maybe you should get some rest."

He rose, and she did too, to show him to the door. But when she got to him, she stopped and said, "Really, Doctor, I appreciate everything you've done for me."

And then she leaned forward to hug him, not knowing what kind of reaction to expect. But he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight, whispering, "Take care of yourself, Olivia. It's all going to work out."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

"Oh my God, Elliot, you're bleeding," she said after Dr. Lindstrom left. He had forgotten all the elbows he took to the face, and now his nose was leaking red all over the place once more. She brought him a dish towel, and then wet another one down so he could clean up. "I'm so sorry, El."

He put a hand on her shoulder while holding the wet cloth to his nose. "It's okay, I'll live." He pulled the rag away long enough to look her solidly in the eyes. "Are you okay now?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "I'm not feeling the urge to bolt out the door—at least not for now."

Elliot drew Olivia a bath so she could relax in the hot tub instead of having to stand in the shower. He laid out her pajamas, and waited for her to get out of the bath so he could tend to her wounds. When she was still in the tub, though, she beckoned him, calling, "Elliot . . ."

He came just to the edge of the door, cracking it a little while he talked to her. "You need something?" he said.

"Yeah," she said, and he held his breath while waiting for her to continue. Finally, she said, "Could you wash my back?"

"Um . . . sure," he said, not wanting her to think he was trying to sneak a peek at her naked body. He hesitantly entered, refusing to look at her. She held out a washcloth for him to use, bending her body forward so he could easily reach her back.

He ran the wet cloth over her back, noticing how the wounds had hardened into solid welts, no longer open. "Looks a lot better," he said. He tried not to look past her back, but he spotted her face, peaceful while enjoying his gentle touch.

When he was done, he said, "Here's a towel," and held it out at arm's length while averting his eyes. He would give anything to witness her perfect body, but he knew if he stole a glance, he would be destroying the trust between them. And that's what she really needed the most right now—someone to trust.

He waited for her to get into her pajamas, and then helped her into the bedroom, although she obviously didn't need his help after almost beating his ass to a pulp. When her weary head dropped into bed, he slid next to her, wanting to touch her more than ever before. She laid on her belly, and he massaged her neck and shoulders, casting wide circles with his thumbs but careful not to venture too close to her raised welts.

"Mmmm," she said, and he fought back a shiver, trying not to get a hard-on.

But the temptation was too great, so he leaned in and whispered into her ear, "Get some sleep now."

And then he left her alone, but he found himself constantly peering into her bedroom, worried she might get up. And if she did—watch out. He wondered if she could make it to sleep, or if the cravings for heroin would overtake the hallucinations and propel her out of bed, fighting her way to the door again.

After Elliot left her alone in the bed, Olivia turned over about twenty times, unable to sleep from the chills mixed with sweats combined with crawling skin. On top of it, she still couldn't shake the feeling that someone was right next to her, ready to tie her up and torture her like she was a Guantanamo prisoner.

Dr. Lindstrom had told her she needed to surround herself with trustworthy people, and he used himself and Elliot as examples. She could trust the doctor, she knew that. But he wasn't going to spend every minute with her making sure she was okay—he was her therapist, and that would be crossing a line.

That left Elliot. And yes, she felt in her heart that she could trust him, that he would never beat her or burn her or assault her like Tucker and Lewis had. But Elliot had another way to hurt her, and he had already employed it—he had abandoned her and broken her heart. The thought that he could just get up and leave her alone at any moment sent chills down her spine and made her breath quicken.

She tried to sleep, but obsessive thoughts harangued her, and voices talked to her. She didn't want to be needy, but she had to make sure he was still there with her. "Elliot," she cried out, getting ready to get up and find him if need be.

But he was there in a second, and she let a chest-full of grateful air when he came to her side and sat down next to her on the bed. But now that she had him, she didn't want to admit that she needed him like a child needs a teddy bear.

"What is it?" he said, his eyes full of worry.

"I'm sorry, El. I just . . . I can't sleep."

He thought for a minute and said, "Would it help if I lay down with you?"

"Yeah," she whispered, embarrassed.

He crawled onto the bed and lay parallel to her, facing her. She avoided his eyes but accepted his hand on her hand, his thumb stroking her fingers. Could she trust him to stay with her for any length of time? He had taken care of her this long, and it had been several weeks since Tucker's assault. But if Elliot left now, or in a few days, or even a few months, she would be left with nobody, and it might be more than her tattered heart could bear.

"Liv," he said, and she raised her eyes to meet his. He brought his hand to her cheek, and cupped it with his palm. "Are you okay?"

She would be okay, if she could just trust that he would stay. Her mind flashed back to Tucker's apartment, when Elliot had found her lying on the floor, injured so bad she couldn't stand. What was it he had said? _It's okay, Liv. I'm here now._

And then she remembered when she had been in the hospital, and he had said, _I'm here and you're safe now._

Remembering the words made her want to cry, and now Elliot said, "Liv? What's wrong?"

She closed her eyes, recalling words he had said when she was barely awake, drugged up in the hospital. _I'm sorry I wasn't here for you. I'm here now, Liv._

She squeezed his hand now, licking salty tears off her lips, her mind flashing back to earlier today when he said, _I should have never left you, and I'm sorry for that, Liv._

"Liv," he said now, brushing his hand through her hair to get her response. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, opening her eyes again to stare into his. "I just need to know—"

"Know what?" he said during her pause.

"That you're going to stay. I can't handle you leaving me again, El. So if you're going to go eventually, just go now, please."

He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips, and she let her tears fall freely now. "I promise you, Liv. I will not leave you. Not now, not ever. You may run me off, but I'll be here for you from now on, and I'll never repeat the mistake I made before. You mean too much to me."

She touched his face and smiled. Then she sat up on one elbow, and his eyes got wide like he was wondering if she was going to take off on him again. But she stayed glued to her spot on the bed, only moving closer to him, and his eyes widened again when she swept in to kiss him.

She shut her eyes, letting her lips gently touch his, and he touched the back of her head while parting his lips to accept her mouth fully. She felt him shudder under her, and it must have been contagious, because it made her body shiver in anticipation. She pulled away just to look into those crystal eyes of his, full of promises of endless future moments together. He whispered, "Are you sure—?"

But she wouldn't let him finish, holding up a finger to his mouth. "Shhh . . ." she said, wanting their only conversation right now to happen through glances and touches.

She intertwined a leg into his, pressing her body into him while kissing him hard, her mouth digging hungrily against his waiting lips. Muffled pants escaped the both of them, and she was amazed at how their bodies fit together so perfectly, her hip pressing into his crotch at the same time that his thigh rubbed against hers.

She moaned into his mouth, sparks flying up her groin and into her spine. Their chests pressed together the same as their lips, and he moved one hand down to her breast, where she heaved her chest to show him she was more than ready. He gripped it, holding it firmly in his hand, and she panted, having a hard time restraining herself from jumping on him hard, wanting to take her time and not rush through this monumental act.

"You want me to—"

"Yeah," she mumbled, nodding vigorously, and he slid his hand under her night shirt to find the beckoning breast in the flesh. As soon as his fingers swept over her nipple, she gasped, rubbing her crotch into him even harder.

Their lips met again, only this time it was like two magnets, unable to pull away under any force. She moved on top of him, pulling his pants down as she did, and he took hers down as well, and before she knew it there was only one thin layer of her silky panties separating them.

His erection pressed into her, eagerly rocking against her, and she reveled in the triple pleasure of his hand on her breast and his hardness against her crotch and his tongue darting into her mouth. For a few seconds, she thought she might not even be able to make it to the final act, and she had to pull away.

But their bodies wanted each other too much, and she knew it was time to take off the panties and join with him, and the next thing she knew she was on top of him, guiding him into her. Their flesh fit together neatly, and he thrust in her, causing flames of passion to shoot through every nerve ending from her gut to her the back of her thighs to her nipples. He thrust harder, grabbing at her breasts as his speed and power accelerated until she not only felt him inside her, she felt he was _part_ of her, that they had joined into one, and the transition would be complete when he let loose inside of her.

She moaned loudly now, and he grunted with every commanding drive into her, and she opened her eyes as slits to see him staring up at her, admiring her on top of him, almost daring her to come. She got close and paused, wanting him to release in her at the exact right time. She could tell he was ready when his plunging gained a compulsive pace, like he might die if he didn't lunge even deeper within her.

It was more than she could stand any longer, and she let her body go, letting the tremors overtake her, the ecstasy approaching the high she had experienced on heroin. She could almost imagine his juices spurting into her when he pulsated within her, and she marveled at the way his release strengthened hers.

And then she started to come down, and was afraid that the let-down would be too much to take. Instead, she felt more peace than she had in a long time, and she collapsed on his chest, barely able to breathe. He breathed into her hair, stroking it lightly with his fingers. And now sleep consumed her like a lion pursuing its prey, and all she was aware of was his hand pulling the blanket up over her as she fell asleep on his heaving chest, knowing she could die right now a happy woman.


	26. Chapter 26

**_Author's Comments:_** _As always, I appreciate all your comments—they really did help shape this chapter. Although . . . I'm not sure you're going to be happy with me after you find out how the issues are addressed . . . because I'm evil like that—Mwah ha ha._

Chapter Twenty-Six

Elliot ran his fingers through Olivia's hair as she slept, his mood slowly changing from elated to pensive as he contemplated their sexual encounter. It had all happened so fast, and she had been so determined, and he had not even thought about turning her down—she seemed so content and peaceful for the first time since he came back from his long absence, and he didn't want to take anything away from her. Plus, she came on so strong, it had been nearly impossible to say no when he got wrapped up in her passion. He almost got hard again thinking of how much he enjoyed her body.

But the more he stared at her face, closed eyes shuttering out the waking world, the more he remembered everything that had happened leading up that moment of intimacy, and the worse he felt about giving in. Earlier today, she had come down from heroin, and he ran his tongue over his teeth thinking about how she had nearly knocked them out trying to get high again. She was hallucinating, delusional, suffering from PTSD, getting high on pain meds and illegal drugs.

If there was anything he had learned from his years at SVU, it was that someone in her condition was hardly in a condition to consent.

He knew she would never complain, that she had enjoyed it thoroughly, that she wasn't impaired at the time, and that she would say she didn't feel he had taken advantage of her. But if he was questioning a perp who had slept with someone with a mental illness, he knew none of those defenses would hold up in court.

And wasn't that her condition right now—mentally ill?

He hated to admit it, but she fit all the criteria, even if it would prove to only be temporary. So as he looked on her angelic face, he made a decision to wait before he allowed it to happen again, no matter what she said to him.

His phone rang, and he went in the other room to answer it, wearing only his boxer briefs, keeping a close eye on her bedroom door in case she woke up. The voice on the other end was Lucy's.

"Elliot? What's going on with Olivia?"

"Uh, she's okay. But she's sleeping right now. Can we come and get Noah in a couple of hours, or do you need someone to get him now?"

Her tone turned cautious and serious, and she said, "Um . . . look, I don't mind keeping him a little longer today, but I have to say, I'm really troubled by everything that's been happening lately. I don't know what's going on with Olivia, and I really like her, but . . . I've been considering reporting her for neglect. I've never had someone leave their child with me so much before—"

"No, no . . ." he said. "Please don't do that, Lucy. Look, I promise things are going to get better, but she just needs a little time. This kind of thing isn't going to happen anymore. We've got a plan."

She sighed. "Okay, look. I'll give her one more chance, but if anything else happens I'm going to have to make the call, okay? For Noah's sake."

Elliot covered his eyes with one hand. "I know. I understand."

Olivia awoke to find Elliot sitting next to her in sweatpants and a t-shirt, on the side of the bed between her and the door, as if safeguarding it from her escape. Her head felt heavy, like it contained stones, and she mumbled, "What time is it?"

He caressed her arm, and she watched his face, wondering if he was real or just one of her hallucinations.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he said, a little too chipper for her taste.

But she could tell from the dim light spilling in through the window that it wasn't morning at all, and that night was getting ready to fall. "How long did I sleep?" she tried again, since he never really answered her question.

"Long enough, I think," he said, eluding her question again. "You needed it, though—you were up all night last night."

"I know," she said, rubbing her eyes and then sitting up groggily. "I'm just . . . trying to get my bearings."

"How do you feel?" he said, his worrying eyes intensely studying her face.

"I'm . . . I'm alright. Still shaky, and itchy, and tense. But," she said, grabbing his hand with a smile, "I feel a lot better after we . . . got close."

"Yeah, that's kinda what I mean," he said, and now she tilted her head, confused. "I mean, are you okay with what we did?"

She narrowed her eyes, tightening her grip on his hand. She was starting to get a sinking feeling about this conversation. "Of course, why wouldn't I be? I mean, it was beautiful, and amazing. Not only that, but I felt . . . relaxed. And that's something I haven't felt lately. I'm assuming—you did feel the same way, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. I did. It was like you said—amazing. And I'm really glad you felt comfortable enough to share your body with me." She knew there was a "but" coming, and she had a sudden desire to clasp her hands over her ears so she didn't have to hear it. "But Liv," he said, wrapping her hand with both of his now. "I'm just worried that we might be jumping into this too soon, you know?"

"Too . . . soon?"

She scoured his face for signs of his meaning, but she found none. His eyes revealed pity, and compassion, and she didn't want to see any of that, so she pulled her hand from him, showing him her naked body one more time before slipping into casual clothes.

"Liv, I'm just saying that you've been through a lot, and you're still vulnerable, and—"

She spun around to face him, still buttoning up her black blouse. "And you're not ready to make that kind of commitment."

"No! No, that's not it at all. It's just . . . you're still seeing things, hearing things, going a little . . ."

He stopped, but she knew what the next word was supposed to be. "I'm crazy." She nodded, finally understanding his hesitation. Her glare burned a hole through him, and she said, "That's what you mean, isn't it? I'm too crazy to fuck—"

"Liv, c'mon. You're not crazy."

She paced, unable to look at him anymore for fear she might lose it and punch him again. "I am. That's what you're saying, right?" She slapped a hand to her forehead. "It makes sense—I'm hallucinating. I'm wandering the streets in a delusional haze. Why would you want to have sex with a mental patient?"

Hot, angry tears rolled down her cheeks, and she thought she heard the voices whispering at her again, but now was the worst possible time for them to come. Here she was, trying to prove her sanity to him, while the madness played on in her head. Feeling the urge to get it out of her system, she kicked the wall hard with her foot. "Goddammit!" she said through a clenched shut jaw. "I wish it would just go away."

"Hey," he said, standing now. But he remained planted to the spot where he stood, like he was debating whether or not it was safe to approach her. "It's okay, Liv. Just calm—"

"Don't you tell me to calm down," she said, facing him with one finger pointing accusingly at him. "You have no idea. No idea how bad this sucks."

Her voice boomed through the room, and she knew she needed to get control of herself or she might lose herself forever. But if she didn't get out of here and walk this out she might tear this place apart, so she started toward the door. She only got as far as Elliot, and he grabbed her by the arms and held her in place like cement.

The move almost sent her reeling into another abusive rage, but Elliot stopped her with his words, saying, "You can't go out there, Liv. You need to think about Noah. I spoke to Lucy, and she's on the verge of calling Child Protective Services on you."

She shut her eyes and clenched her fists, allowing his hands to hold her in place. Fast breaths raced through her ribcage at the thought of losing Noah, and she shook her head, forcing herself to get a grip on the real world. Because if there was one thing to glue her to the fine edge of sanity, it was her son.


	27. Chapter 27

**_Author's Comments:_** _Anyone else getting excited for the season finale? Oh God, I don't know if I can handle it . . . what are they going to do next? I predict lots of fanfic coming up in the next month . . ._

In the meantime, enjoy . . .

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"What did Lucy say?" Olivia glared at him, waiting anxiously for an answer, and when it didn't come instantly, she demanded, "What did she say, Elliot?"

Elliot looked like an animal caught in headlights, but he answered her now. "She said she was . . . concerned, and that if you kept leaving Noah with her for long periods of time, she was going to call Child Protective Services."

"What?" she gasped. She clasped her hand over her mouth, and then removed it to say, "We have to go get him, Elliot. Why didn't you say something sooner? We have to go right now."

The thought of losing Noah made her start to pace again, and Elliot just stood there watching her. "We can't," he said. "Not when you're like this."

She went to him and squared up, facing him. "We need to go get him now, Elliot."

He had a desperate look on his face, like he wanted to hold her steady but was afraid to lay a hand on her. "Liv, it's okay. She said she would keep him for a few hours until you rested—"

"And now I'm rested."

"But you're in a bad state."

She threw her hand up in the air. "Because I need to get my son! You don't understand, Elliot. Before I got him, he was in one foster home after another. The neglect that he went through . . ."

She had to stop, because the thought of his life before her made her want to cry. Instead, she did the only thing she could, trapped in this apartment with a security patrol named Elliot guarding her—she paced. And shook her head. "How could I let this happen? I don't know how to deal with this, El. Look at me," she said, stopping for effect, and then resuming her back and forth striding again. "I'm literally losing my mind. Insane. Maybe . . . maybe I should be locked up."

She saw him shaking his head out of the corner of her eye, but he didn't say anything. "Maybe . . . maybe Noah would be better off without me. Maybe he needs someone who can take care of him better . . ."

The thought had her choking back tears again, but one got away from her and meandered down her cheek. She wiped it away, and Elliot squared up to her now, and held up a hand, saying gently, "Can I touch you?" She nodded, sniffling back more tears, and he laid a hand on her arm, massaging it with his fingers. "It's going to be okay, Liv. Remember what Dr. Lindstrom said—all you need is time, and a little bit of help, and you'll get better. And I know you—I know what a great mom you are. There's not another person in the world who could raise Noah better than you. So let's go get your suboxone prescription filled, and get you calmed down, and we can go get Noah. Okay?"

Her chest heaved from crying, but she nodded, and she didn't pull away when he tugged at her until she leaned into his chest, his arms enfolding her. She put her arms around him as well, and his presence soothed her until she was no longer a blubbering, babbling mess.

Elliot's hand gently nudged Olivia's back, and she took a step outside her apartment, trying not to hyperventilate. She closed her eyes to block out the echoing sounds of the hallway, but then the voices started in, saying, " _I missed you Sunshine,_ " followed up by, " _One move, lights out._ "

And she wasn't even to the elevator yet.

She didn't even notice that she had stopped to a standstill until Elliot said, "What's wrong, Liv?"

She shook her head, not wanting to talk about it, unable to portray the severity of the dread she felt in this moment. But she didn't need to, because he took her hand in his and squeezed it, saying, "Deep breaths. Walk with me."

She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes, focusing on his hand grasping hers as she took her first step, and then her second. She made it down the hallway and into the elevator that way—one step after another, with Elliot's hand as her anchor.

When they got outside, though, her heart started to flutter, and she began to wonder if she would have to move a cabin in the wilderness to escape the overwhelming sounds of the city. Car doors slammed, and horns honked, and the people—the unavoidable people in New York could paralyze the sanest of people under the right circumstances, the way they brushed past and nearly knocked a person over without even saying "sorry".

But she was determined to do this. She had to do this. Her sanity depended on it, because if she lost Noah, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she gave up and let the paddy wagon come and take her away to the psych ward.

None of these thoughts helped her hands and legs stop quivering, however. Elliot squeezed her hand tight and said, "You ready for this?"

She closed her eyes and took in huge gulps of air, and then said, "Yeah. Pharmacy's just down the street. Let's do this."

They turned, and they walked, and she stopped to drink the polluted New York air and fight back tears of terror. And then they walked again.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she spun around to find . . . no one. Someone else's hand grasped her shoulder, and she gasped before realizing the hand was real this time—and it was Elliot. "You okay?" he asked again, and she wondered if he would eventually tire of asking her that and just give up on her.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "Fine—I'm fine."

He gave her one solid nod and said, "Keep going?"

Without answering, she clutched his hand again, like her life depended on it, because maybe it did, and she moved one foot in front of the other again. She made it to the end of the street and got ready to cross, Elliot standing like a tree beside her. " _Welcome home, Detective_ ," said Lewis' voice in her ear, and she stepped out in the street only to have Elliot whisk her back by her arm, narrowly avoiding a taxi cab barreling toward her.

She stood paralyzed now as a swarm of people passed her to cross the street, traveling in accordance with the flashing walker light that she had completely ignored a moment ago. She looked over at him, her nostrils flaring as her nerve endings filled with needle-point shocks. "I can't . . ." she said.

He caught her gaze with his eyes, keeping it entrapped while saying, "Focus on me, Liv. Block out everything else. It's just you and me."

She stared into those eyes, full of life and glimmering hope, and she held onto that hope that she couldn't contain inside her own jaded mind. At first, all she could see, her entire existence, was those eyes. And then she noticed his hands on her arms, holding her there, keeping her from sprinting off into wild psychotic abandon. Then it was as if he breathed for her, the rhythm of her chest slowing to meet his. And then she could relax once more, for a few moments anyway, and she was ready to try again.

They crossed the street, hand in hand. They made it to the pharmacy, his arm around her shoulders, encouraging her forward. They went to pick up the prescription, and she didn't flip out at the counter or cause the clerk to stare at her like she was a mad vagrant woman.

And somehow, miraculously, they made it all the way back home, whispers and darting shadows following her all the way but not immobilizing her. And just before they stepped through her door, she turned to face him, and said, "Thank you, Elliot."

Then she buried herself against him, hugging him tight, and his chest rose and fell in a slow, grateful cadence in time with hers. He kissed the top of her head, his arms a protective barrier around her, and said, "You're welcome, Olivia."


	28. Chapter 28

**_Author's Comments:_** _Do you know that if you mention William Lewis in a tweet, he will reply back to you and then follow you from his twitter account? This happened to me. Needless to say, it creeped me out._

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It had been a week now since Olivia had picked up Noah from Lucy's place, and she still remembered how he had squealed with delight when she scooped him up in her arms, tears dropping like rain from her eyes into his baby-soft hair. She had sworn to never leave him with anyone else, at least until she was able to go back to work, and she had withstood some severe cabin fever to make sure she kept that promise to herself and her child. Now she stared down at him in his crib, his little chest heaving deeply as he lay on his back, lost in dreamland.

She covered him up with a blankie and took one last look at him before turning to reluctantly leave the bedroom. Resisting the urge to go check on him one more time, she retreated to the couch instead, sitting down next to Elliot. "How's he doing?" he asked.

"Asleep. They're so cute when they're asleep."

"So true." He glanced sideways at her, and she knew he still worried about her. And for good reason—she still had moments of delusions, hallucinations, flashbacks. But they were starting to grow fewer and farther between, and she thought the anti-depressants might be starting to kick in, because she felt calmer through the hard times.

Elliot must have noticed, because he said now, "Liv, I'm proud of you." She smiled, remembering how Elliot had watched Noah for a short time today while she and Dr. Lindstrom forayed out into the big world to pick up a few groceries at the bodega down the street.

She had noticed that even with a few intrusive flashbacks, the heroin cravings had not raised their ugly head the entire time, and neither had the urges to run off and hide. And then she almost chuckled as she thought that was probably a good thing, since she could have easily taken the good doctor down and escaped, had the impulse overcome her.

On their way back to her apartment, Dr. Lindstrom had cautiously said to her, "Liv, I think there's one more step you need to take in your exposure therapy."

"What's that?" she said, rocks settling into the bottom of her stomach.

"With Lewis, you got closure when you visited the morgue. But with Tucker—"

She shook her head. "Oh, no. I don't ever want to see him again. He agreed to a plea bargain, so I'll never have to face him at trial, and I'm perfectly happy with that."

"Liv. This may be the final thing that can bring you peace. Sometimes when we see the things we fear the most in person, we realize they aren't as big and scary as we thought they were. If you see Tucker behind bars, you wouldn't even have to talk to him. Just seeing that he's locked up might make you feel more secure."

After a long pause, she said, "I'll think about it," and they had continued their trek until she was safely home.

Elliot's voice snapped her attention back to the present now, in her living room, his arm resting gently behind her head on the couch. "There's one thing you've never talked about with me," he said.

"What's that?" she said quietly, almost too afraid to ask.

"I saw what Tucker did to you," he said, and now the hairs on the back of her neck bristled. "But I wasn't here when Lewis took you."

She looked down at her restless hands, shaking her head, and he said, "If it's too much to talk about right now, don't feel obligated. But I just wish I had some understanding of what you went through."

She clenched her lips in between her teeth. She had never told anyone but Dr. Lindstrom what she went through, not directly. There had been a re-telling on the stand at trial, but it was so public, so . . . impersonal, and she had dissociated through most of it, leaving her body so she wouldn't have to endure Lewis' hardened stare boring through her. She wasn't sure what effect telling Elliot would have on her—would it throw her too close to those memories, sending her back into the dark place she had been struggling the last few weeks to escape?

She decided to risk it. If she wanted to have a more intimate relationship with Elliot, she was going to have to start trusting him. "I had interrogated him, and he got under my skin, and he knew that," she began. He clutched her shoulder to show her he was still here for her. "When I came home that night, he was there with my gun. I don't know how."

She could barely look at Elliot while telling the story, but she glanced at him occasionally just to see his reaction. "He did things to me—burned me, slammed me with the gun, knocking me out. He had me tied up to a chair." A slight gasp escaped Elliot's lips, and he rubbed her shoulder. "And then he knew he had to get me out of the apartment, so he took me, kept me drugged and poured liquor down my throat. Had my hands and feet duct taped, and tape over my mouth. He . . ." She clasped her hand over her mouth, remembering details now that she had blocked from her memory so she wouldn't have to relive that hell. "He kissed me."

She just now noticed her cheeks were wet with tears, and that Elliot's grasp of her shoulder had tightened. He said, "Liv, if it's too hard for you—"

"No. I want to," she said, staring into space, now in that other place where Lewis had ruled her like a tyrant. "He kept me for four days. Made me watch . . . things he did to other people."

Unable to bear her recounting of that torturous night without protecting her, he pulled her closer to him, kissing the side of her head now. But she kept on, because now she had to get it all out of her system. "He killed a man. Raped the man's wife in front of me. Killed a state trooper in front of me. Stuffed me in a trunk and took me to an empty beach home. And then he . . ."

She had to close her eyes and slow down her breathing, which had reached an unsustainable racing clip. When she finally got control of her anxiety, she said, eyes still shut, "He handcuffed me to a bed and shoved a gun in my mouth. And then he was going to . . . rape me," she said, and tears began to flow faster now, making it hard to speak. Elliot protectively wrapped his arms around her head, holding her tightly against him, his hands worrying over her hair, noticeably disturbed by what he was hearing.

She shook her head. "He didn't, though—a maid showed up with her little girl, and he invited them into the house. I was so terrified by the thought of what he might do to her that I broke a metal bar off the bedframe and got free. And then I took him down. And that was just the first time, before he got out of jail again. But that's another story."

She sighed hard, expelling all thoughts of Lewis with her exhalation. She rested her forehead against his and said, "I thought of you, Elliot. I thought my life might be almost over, and all I could think of was you, and how you would take him out if you were there."

"I would," he whispered, stroking her cheeks, his forehead still pressed against hers, his lips brushing within a hair of hers. "I would have killed that bastard, sent him straight back to the hell he came from. Liv, I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. If I could take that pain from you, I would trade places any day."

She silently absorbed his apology, taking it in like honey. He kissed her head and pulled back just enough to see her eyes. "I want to make it up to you, Liv. I know I can't, but I want to at least try. Can I take you on a date?" His eyes grew panicky, and he said, "When you're ready—no rush. I just want to take you to a nice restaurant, maybe coffee afterwards, whatever you want."

She smiled through her tears. "A date. I love it. Thank you, El."

He kissed her lips gently and said, "My pleasure."


	29. Chapter 29

**_Author's Comments:_** _Sorry it took me an extra day to publish this chapter. I had to spend the night in the ER last night after passing out for no apparent reason. After 7 hours of waiting, and an EKG, and blood work, the ER doctor's official diagnosis is, "a fluke"._

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Olivia closed her eyes and sighed as soon as she crossed the threshold, focusing on Elliot's steadying hand on her sleeveless shoulder. _I can just turn around and go back_ , she thought. _I don't have to do this._

And then she smiled, remembering the moment earlier this evening when she had passed through a different door—the entrance to her bedroom—and Elliot's mouth had frozen open, gaping at her. She had chosen the short sequined blue dress that she loved so much but hardly wore, trying to add a touch of color to the shades of black and white in her life.

He had finally forced his jaw to close so that he could smile at her, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his mouth for a polite kiss. "You look . . ." he said, wordless for a second. But then he snapped out of his starry-eyed trance. "Radiant."

She smiled sheepishly. She wasn't used to making herself up for men—usually it was a matter of looking professional, or getting casual for a night out after work. But she had spent a long time on her eyes and lips, and getting a few curls in her long, straight hair, and finding just the right sparkling necklace to match the dazzling diamond earrings that she saved only for special occasions.

And if there was ever a special night, it was tonight. But she had one stop to make before she could relax and enjoy this evening with Elliot—she had to visit with Tucker first.

She didn't _have_ to, of course. And she kept reminding herself of that, so that she could back out if waves of anxiety crushed her. But she knew she needed to do it, for her own sanity, so that she could leave that terrible night in the past and move on with her life.

As soon as she stepped through the door to the visitor's room, she was assaulted with sensations she had not experienced this intensely for several weeks—intrusive memories of a whip cracking, voices punishing her with their threatening tones, shadows of phantom assailants dashing through her line of vision. With her eyes still closed, she slowed her breathing with great effort, and then she reminded herself that she could leave the visitation room at any time. Besides that, Elliot's solid hand on her shoulder reminded her that she had someone here to protect her, if the impossible happened and Tucker broke through the chains that would bind him to the table.

She opened her eyes and moved toward the table where Tucker would soon be led out. Elliot pulled the chair out for her to sit, but she shook her head. Something about standing made her feel safer—she wanted to be able to bolt as far away from Tucker as fast as possible. Elliot stood behind her, his hand squeezing her shoulder to remind her of his presence.

The door opened, and a Mr. Clean-sized security guard led Tucker through the door and chained him to the table. Tucker cast an angry glance at Elliot, and then smirked at Olivia just before sitting down, and she focused on not showing any signs of the terror she felt, so she could prove to him how little he had gotten to her, even if it was a lie.

Despite her best efforts though, she broke out into a cold sweat, trying to keep beads of it from forming around her hairline by focusing on Elliot's hand sliding down the side of her arm until it grasped her gently at her side.

Tucker took advantage of the silence in the room to say, "You look amazing."

And she did—she had purposely dressed for her date with Elliot, in her blue sparkly dress and high heels, _before_ coming to see him so that she could show him what he was missing. She did not acknowledge the compliment, however, merely stared at his face, noticing scuff marks below his eye and a gash on the opposite cheek, apparently fresh. _Good_ , she thought. Maybe he had taken some hits while here in prison.

"Enjoying your stay in the castle?" she said, her eyes hardening.

"Enjoying the stripes on your back?" She fought the urge to ball up her hands into fists. His voice was like a cheese grater on her nerves. "I'm betting they've hardened into rutted scars by now," he said.

She felt Elliot start to surge toward Tucker, and she blocked him with her arm. "It's okay, Elliot," she said, "He can't hurt me anymore."

She watched Elliot back up until he was behind her again, resting his hand on her back. And then she and Tucker glared at each other, until she broke the silence between them with venom in her voice. "It's fine, Ed. You may have hurt me, but you never broke my spirit. And I'm not the one who has to sit in this hellhole for fifty years," she said, referring to the sentence he had been given for convictions of sex trafficking and rape, in addition to the aggravated assault charges he faced from his plea deal in her case.

She glanced away before meeting his gaze again, boring holes through him with her eyes. "I'll admit, you broke my trust so bad that I almost gave up on ever believing in another person. But as someone recently pointed out to me, I'm stronger than the experiences I've gone through, and I'm tough enough that I can build a life out of this even better than the life I had before."

Elliot ran his fingers gently down her back in support, and her muscles relaxed a little as she sighed. "So, I just wanted to come by and give you one final message before I never have to see your face again. Fuck you, Ed."

And then she spun on her heels and advanced to the door, turning to look back just in time to see Elliot fake-lunge at Tucker, causing him to flinch. But it was only when the guards escorted her outside the visitation cell and into the lobby that she felt she could actually take a breath, and only when Elliot took her by the hand and led her into the parking lot that her heart started once more, after feeling like she had hit pause on her pulse.

She turned to face him, and he brushed a strand of loose-curled hair back from her face to say, "I'm proud of you, Olivia Benson. That took a lot of courage."

She smiled, wrapping her arms around him before she said, "I don't know if I would have done it without you there, El." Then she pulled away from him and opened her own door, watching Elliot's eyes widen at her sudden glee. "Now let's go eat. I've suddenly got my appetite back."


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Elliot glanced over at Olivia's face staring out the side of the window, but then he brought his eyes back to the road, not wanting to crash in this city of crazy drivers. He refused to ask her if she was okay, fearing he had burned out that question after all the times he'd asked her in recent weeks. But he had to find a way to get her talking, because her mood seemed to have shifted from the chipper attitude she had flashed at him in the form of a smile when she first got in the car.

Now she seemed sullen, her eyes glistening with sadness, and he had to fix this, to find the right formula to bring her out again. But the only thing he could think to say to her was, "What's wrong?"

She didn't answer right away, just shook her head. Then she gave her standard answer, "Nothing." But instead of trying to convince him she was fine like she typically did, she said, "The usual."

He grabbed it and ran with it. "The usual? Like, voices and images? That kind of usual?"

She whispered, "Yeah," and then lifted her head to bring her gaze up from her hands. "But more than that. The voices are mild now, and I don't get them as much. But the doubts . . ."

He waited for her to finish, and when she didn't, he said, "Doubts?"

He could see her nodding out of the corner of his eye. "What if . . . what if I was wrong when I told Tucker I could have a better life now?"

He wanted so bad to hold her hand right now, but she kept it protectively resting in her lap. "You don't think you can have a better life?" he said gently, knots building up in his gut as he waited for her answer. Because if she didn't think she could, what did that mean for him? If she was never satisfied with her life, where did that leave him? Would she toss him to the curb when she got tired of him, like a pair of worn-out shoes? Had he taken too long to get back to her, so that now it was too late for her to accept him and trust him as more than just a friend? Maybe she would eventually never want to see him again. He gasped at the thought.

"I want to start over new—I do," she said. "But maybe I'm too damaged. Maybe I've been burned one too many times, and now I'll never be able to completely open up to anyone."

He didn't know whether or not to be relieved by her _It's-not-you-it's-me_ attitude. If the problem was him, at least he had some control over that. He didn't know how to respond to her defeatist attitude, but he had to give it a shot. "You've payed your dues, Liv. Why not give yourself some hope? It's the least you deserve."

He pulled in front of the restaurant just in time to see her shaking her head. "I want to. It's not like I'm not trying to believe in a future."

He cast one last glance at her and rested his hand on the steering wheel instead of seeking out hers. "Doesn't sound like it. Sounds like you're close to giving up."

He could almost feel her blood pressure rising, her hand seeking out the door handle. She pursed her lips and said, "I'm doing my best, El," and then lunged out the door.

Maybe Elliot was right—her attitude was crappy right now. She had wanted to have a perfect evening with Elliot—Amanda had even offered to watch Noah tonight so they could have a worry-free night, and Olivia had overcome her fears of having her son taken away from her and took Amanda up on the offer.

But the visit with Tucker had been a reminder—as much as she wanted to believe there was good in the world to counteract the bad, most of what she had seen over the past few years were the worst offenders imaginable, and she didn't know if she could ever put aside what had been done to her, as long as there were lashes on her back and evil ghosts in her mind.

And she didn't know if Elliot would ever understand what that was like, so he would probably lose patience with her before too long. It seemed like he was starting to already, slamming his door as he got out of the car and handed the keys to the valet. Not wanting to see the exasperation on his face, she turned to face the door to the restaurant, clutching her bag in her hands, shrugging her shoulders against the cold evening wind.

His fingers touched her back and she flinched, and then she moved to the door, stopping just inside the up-scale restaurant. "What's wrong?" Elliot said quietly into her ear.

"I forgot to take my medications before we left."

He sighed. She shivered. Suddenly claustrophobic in this spacious yet busy place, the walls pressed in on her, and she wanted nothing more than to just turn around and run out the door. "Can you manage without them?" Elliot asked in a low voice, to avoid anyone overhearing their conversation.

She tried to force a smile so that none of these people, dressed in their fanciest clothes, would judge her hesitation at the entrance. "Yeah, I'll make it."

But she could almost sense him recoiling behind her. It was not the answer he wanted to hear, she knew. Most likely, he was hoping she would brush off any inconveniences and just have a good time with him, laughing like school kids. But that's not where her dark mood was headed, and she knew once she got into this mental space, it would be hard to escape the increasing visions of doom. The hostess led them to an open table in the middle of the floor, and her skin crawled from the thought of people surrounding her at adjacent tables.

And then she just couldn't breathe, and she had to remind her lungs to move in and out to bring in new air. Elliot must have noticed a certain familiar look on her face, because he said, "Liv, if you need—"

But it was too late—she needed to leave, right this second, and so she shot past the approaching waiter and the crowd at the front door, and escaped out onto the sidewalk, briskly clomping in her high heels down the street to an undecided location.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

It took Elliot a small eternity to realize that Olivia was leaving when she turned away from the table—if it had been any other time in her life, he would have assumed she was just making a trip to the lady's room. By the time he realized the seriousness of her actions, she was halfway to the door. When he tried to catch up to her, a crowd of people walked in and got between him and the entrance. By the time he reached the outdoors, she was halfway down the street.

"Goddammit, not again," he muttered under his breath.

But he was going to get her this time.

He could just make out the sparkle of her dress under the street lights as she passed under them. She was travelling at a fast pace, but he sprinted down the sidewalk after her, knowing that as long as she didn't run, he could probably catch up to her before she disappeared into the night.

It took almost an entire city block and his last reserves of lung capacity, but now he was right behind her. Not knowing how delusional she was, he decided not to risk spooking her, so he didn't touch her. Instead, he shouted from behind, "Liv."

But she didn't stop, didn't answer, as if she hadn't heard him, so he said, "Liv" again, while coming up beside her.

He was too winded to keep calling her name, so as a last resort, he grasped her arm and said, "Liv, wait up."

At the contact from his hand, she halted and spun to face him, yanking her arm away from him. "Don't touch me," she said, the force of her words nearly knocking him over.

"Okay, okay," he said, putting his hands up in surrender. "I'm just trying to talk."

She stood for a minute, catching her breath, and he used the opportunity to do the same, still on alert in case she bolted. But she made eye contact with him this time, and he thought that was a good sign. "I'm sorry, El," she said, still panting, her eyes glimmering with a mixture of furious repentance. "I just had to get out of there. It was too stifling."

"Okay," he said, careful not to give in to his urge to touch her arm. "But I need you to talk to me. When you run off like that—"

"I'm sorry." She clutched her purse to her like it was a safety line.

"Are you having . . ." He stopped himself, trying to gauge her mental status without asking intrusive questions, but he had to know whether she was going to bolt again.

"No, I'm fine now. I just . . . I started to feel like the walls were closing in, and I needed fresh air."

He breathed out a huge bundle of air, but now he fought back anger. "So what are we doing, Liv?"

Her eyes turned from stars to diamond-speckled coals in a flash. "What do you mean, El?"

"I mean, I need to know where I stand." He didn't intend for his tone to sound so harsh, and he worried that he might scare her away, but he couldn't stop the words from gushing out of his mouth now. "And from where I'm standing, it looks like you're giving up on recovering, giving up on us."

Her lips drew into a tight line, her dress glittering in the lights of the city even as her scowling face drew a dark wall blocking him from her heart. "Fuck you, Elliot."

He threw his hands up. "What? You keep saying you don't think you can do it. But I know you can do it." He kept talking right through her shaking head. "I know you, and I know you're a fighter, and I keep telling you—"

"That's right," she shouted, her eyebrows crowded down over her eyes. "You keep telling me. You have no idea, Elliot! You have no idea what it's like to be me, to have gone through what I've been through. You have no idea the demons I fight off every second."

"So tell me!" He was up in her face now, he didn't care. He was tired of the pity party she threw for herself—he wanted her to snap out of it finally and come back to him. "Scream it at me. But whatever you do, _don't give up_."

"Whoever said I was going to?" she said, exasperation in her voice as she closed the space between them even more.

"You said—"

"I said I had doubts. I didn't say I was going to stop trying. There's a difference, Elliot."

They were practically nose to nose now, and he noticed how beautiful she was, even when she was yelling at him. He softened his tone a bit. "So what is it you're so afraid of?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she said, her eyes pinpoints of accusations. "Losing you."

He ran a hand over his head, not sure what to say to that. "And just how exactly am I supposed to prove to you that I'm not leaving you, Liv? I've told you over and over again, but I don't know how to convince you . . ."

Their eyes locked in a wishful, wistful gaze, and in hers he saw wonder and fear and uncertainty and something else—love, perhaps? He didn't know, but if he couldn't tell her how he felt and persuade her he wasn't going anywhere, he would have to show her, prove to her that his love for her was everlasting.

So he crossed the centimeters between them and kissed her lips, locked his onto hers like a vice, like he would die if they ever came apart. She didn't try to pull away, didn't flinch, just accepted his lips on hers and the flicker of his tongue in her slightly parted mouth. And then she grabbed his body, pulled him close to her, and he knew that he had her like a fish on a hook.

They stayed that way, lips locked together, mouths and tongues hungrily absorbing one another, breaths flaring out of nostrils in gasping huffs, for a seeming eternity, until the last star burned out in the sky. Her heart pounded into his chest, and then his joined in, forming a dreamy rhythm that spread down to the veins in his legs, until he had to pull away for fear he might lose control. His hands explored her hair as he breathed into her ear, "Let's get away from here. I know a place . . ."

She nodded, her eyes closed in pleasure, still trying to catch her breath. And then she opened them and looked at him, and the sparkle in her eye matched the gleaming of her dress. "Yeah," she whispered. "Let's go."

She didn't know how it had happened, but they were now in a bar. And not just any bar, but the same one she had met him in the first time after he got back into town. He had led her in by the hand, and somehow she hadn't felt the need to run away. Instead, she was tranquil, calmed by the idea that she could slip into the shadows of this dark place and nobody could ever find her.

But she grasped onto Elliot's hand, holding it like an anchor and a promise of the future. He took her to an oasis of quiet in this noisy place, and waited like a gentleman for her to slide over. She caught him watching her out of the corner of her eye, his face mesmerized, like he was seeing his favorite celebrity in person. She smiled to herself, feeling a sudden surge of power over him.

His eyes never left her as he scooted in across from her, and then he clasped her hands on top of the table. She held back a shy smile, suddenly feeling like they had just met for the first time. He ordered drinks for her and said, "You hungry?"

"Not really," she said, her voice low and husky, and her tone came out a little flirty, to her embarrassment.

But by the look on his face, he didn't mind, flashing her a slightly up-turned mouth. The magic of the moment only lasted a moment before the darkness tried to fill in the spaces, though, and twinges of uncertainty filtered through her chest, causing it to constrict. "What if—"

He hushed her with a finger to his lips. "Listen to this song," he said, staring out into the thin air, cocking his head to the side.

She focused on the sound coming from the jukebox, and realized it was a song by Adele. Elliot was on his feet before she could even blink, holding out his hand to her. "Wanna dance?" he said, and she only hesitated for a nervous second.

The music sounded out as he led her to the empty dance floor:

 _Whenever I'm alone with you_

 _You make me feel like I am home again._

He pulled her into his chest, their outstretched hands clasping, and they swayed ever-so-slightly to the melody, flashes of lights glimmering around them.

 _You make me feel like I am fun again,_

 _You make me feel like I am young again._

She closed her eyes and leaned into him, her feet moving in time with his, her breath matching his, her head resting against his temple.

 _However far away, I will always love you._

His hand tightly clutched her back, and it was hard to believe this was the same hand that beat Tucker to a pulp in retaliation for what he did to her. This same vengeful hand now held her gently, guiding her on the dance floor, and she marveled at the peace she felt at that revelation.

He brushed a wisp of hair away from her ear so he could whisper, "Liv, you're so beautiful."

She smiled into his face, and he must have felt it, because he turned enough to reach her lips, engaging them in a slow, sweet kiss. When he let go, she gasped, resting her forehead against his, feeling like nothing could ever go wrong again. "Can we . . . go back to my place?" she said softly.

He looked into her eyes, creases forming in his forehead before he answered. "I . . . want to, but . . ."

She closed her eyes and sighed. She would have to prove to him she was sane, and how did she do that? "Elliot," she said, giving him a determined stare. "I'm here. I'm with you, not off in some paranoid delusion where vicious criminals are waiting to assault me around every corner."

He didn't say anything, just stared at her in bewilderment at the dilemma he faced, and she knew he would be reluctant to allow her intimacy into his world if he wasn't completely certain she was capable of consenting. "Elliot," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "I don't know what to say to convince you, but you're going to have to trust me. Have I sought out drugs? Have I been drinking heavily? You've seen me—I've been out of the house, I haven't flipped out. Aside from tonight, I haven't been spooked. I'm ready, and . . . forget it."

She turned away from him, tired of feeling like she was on trial, defending her own character. As she started to walk away, he grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her until she faced him. "Liv, wait," he said.

She sighed again. "Elliot, I'm tired of this. I want you. I want to be close to you again, and I . . ." She sucked in her gut, getting up the courage to say what needed to be said. "I love you."

The world didn't really stop, but it might as well have, because for a few moments nothing existed but the two of them, looking into each other's souls, as if they saw each other for the first time. Something about the words triggered something in him, and in her, and she couldn't believe they hadn't verbalized yet what they had both known all along. "I . . . I love you, Liv," he said, as if she had ever doubted it.

And then the world spun around them rapidly, like they were on a drunken high, while their lips met, their mouths joining together, sending spirals of sparkly joy down her spine and into her legs. Her heart pounded into her chest, firing warmth into her belly, and she knew now it was time to go, before she pushed him onto the floor right here and now and got arrested.

Barely inside her door, Elliot pressed her into the wall, taking her breath away with his lips all over hers. His bulging muscles strained to hold her there, but she wasn't afraid. She gave back as hard as he did, shoving her crotch into his thigh, and then moaning loudly, not scared to let him know how he made her feel.

She felt his manhood pressing into her hip now, and she said in a low, breathy voice, "Take me to the bedroom, El."

He froze, staring at her with hungry eyes, and then he lifted her into his arms, honeymoon style, and carried her the entire way without hesitating. When he deposited her onto the bed, the clothes came off fairly quickly, even as gentle as he was. And then his hands swept over her body, savoring every nook of her, and she melted into him, enjoying the strength of his fingers in her flesh.

When he entered her, she gasped, closing her eyes to relish the bliss caused by their merger. The ecstasy nearly unbearable, every other thing in the world became shut out of her awareness, and the only thing that existed in the world was his manhood pressing into her. The pleasure accelerated, spreading throughout every nerve ending from the base of her spine up to the back of her skull, until she might explode, and she couldn't hold back a moan from her lips any more. He responded by rocking her more vigorously, and she curled her toes when her body pulsed, accepting his erupting ejection into her.

And then she gulped, not wanting this moment to end, but knowing she would have to return to earth now. But it was okay, because his body encircled her, cushioning her fall and protecting her from the outside world, and nobody—not Tucker, not Lewis, could penetrate the fortress he formed around her. He lay on top of her, stroking her hair and planting gentle kisses on her temple. "Elliot," she said, wanting to cry from elation. "I think you're right."

"About what?" he whispered.

She opened her eyes to find his gaze so close to her, she didn't know if it was possible for any two humans to be closer. His fading erection still inside her, she didn't move, didn't want him to ever leave her. "I'm going to heal, and I'm going to get better."

He nodded. "I know you will. Because you're Olivia Benson."

"But," she said, and his eyebrows lowered in worry. "Not only am I going to get back to my old self, I'm going to grow from this whole experience, because you were there to pull me up. You were my anchor, Elliot Stabler, and I'm never going to forget that."

Her voice cracked with the last few words, and he wiped away a tear that had started to form in the corner of her eye. "And I'll never let you forget it either, because I'm going to be right here to remind you. You saved me too, you know. You're my angel, Liv, and you showed me what it is to be alive for the first time in my life."

She smiled up at him, holding back tears, and he leaned down and gave her a kiss so passionate that made her realize she was better off than the angels, who must be so jealous of her ridiculous rapture right now. And if she had to choose between heaven and spending one more minute of her life like this, she knew what she would choose.

 _Author's comments: Thanks for those of you who stuck with it to the very end! Sorry it took so long to finish, I wanted to write this last chapter in one shot—I didn't think it should be broken up. I actually love this story, it has a special place in my heart. I hope you all enjoyed it too._


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